Emerald Hill, Book One: The Kitsune (REVISED EDITION)
by BrightSongBird
Summary: COMPLETED. For my returning readers: welcome back! For newcomers: this is my take on the American wizarding system, as seen through the eyes of a young wizard. Enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

_At this altitude the air is very thin. The stars seem very close, shivering in their houses of glass, and I trace their familiar patterns (though my shadow whispers that I knew other patterns, once upon a time). I am above the clouds, above the wind, and from this particular vantage point there is not a light to be seen; all is darkness and snow, velvety gradations of silver in endless wrinkled procession, fading into the distance._

 _I have so far to travel, and yet I linger a moment more, luxuriating in this utter solitude. Their voices are with me still, remonstrations that cling to me like gnawing parasites. Another year gone and no progress has been made. They couch their impatience in jokes and teasing questions, as though they can even begin to understand the frustrations of my life. Find the one, bring the one, tell us, teach us, show us, it is time_ … _their words beat at my mind with the incessant wings of moths. They have no idea. They disgust me, I love them, they infuriate me, I need them, I never want to see them again, I miss them with every fiber of my being._

 _I am so alone._

 _I shake off this uneasy feeling, shades of blue and gray falling away from me to be lost in the night. It is time to begin. My feet leave prints that no one will ever see as I begin down the slope, moving west. I'll take the long away around, and pass through New York to have a first look at the new arrivals. Hopefully their fear and anticipation will be refreshing rather than wearying. Who knows, maybe this time my search will bear fruit._

 _Sorcerer, soldier, sacrifice._

 _I will find you yet._


	2. Chapter 2

He ran through the predawn hush, his sneakers whispering through the grass and disturbing the fine mist that hung above the unmowed lawn. The trees were a black mass ahead of him, hunching close to the hills against the rose-gold of the eastern sky, but he was not afraid of their shadows; he knew the way as well as the hallways of his own house. The thought of his house made him want to turn around for a final look, but he did not dare. He was too afraid that They would be watching, coming around the corner, marking his path and preparing to follow.

He cut around the patch of blueberry bushes and plunged across the barrier, passing from the open grass into the deep darkness of the woods. The footpaths on the mountainside were hardly discernable, but to the boy who had made them they stood out starkly even in the dim light. He followed the northernmost one, skirting the slope and cresting the low saddle to reach the narrow valley that was filled to the brim with rhododendrons. From outside they looked like an impenetrable mass of very dark green, but the boy knew the way in. There were doorways in the branches: secret passageways into castle keeps; the iron-bound doors to the cabin of a ship's captain; even portals to other worlds entirely, worlds the boy alone had seen. The branches made a low ceiling, but he could scramble along on hands and knees nearly as fast as he could run. He followed the lowest part of the valley until he came to his favorite place, where a particularly large rhododendron formed a dome beside the trickle of a spring. Weeks ago, he had floored this place meticulously with a deep layer of pine needles and made it a base for many of his games, and the leaves above were an almost perfect seal against any rain.

 _Here_ , he thought, settling down with his back to the trunk of the tree. His heart was thumping heavily, more with fear and tension than exertion. _I'll wait here. Protected above and below and all around. They'll never find me. After a few days I can sneak back, maybe get some food. Soon They'll give up._

The sun broke silently over the edge of the world, its first rays touching the top branches high above him on the ridge. The boy had not slept at all the previous night, having been too busy convincing himself to run, and gradually his chin drooped onto his chest and he slept, dirt-smeared and exhausted, wrapped only in a thin jacket.

He woke in the light of midday. Someone was gently shaking his shoulder. He sat up with a yelp, kicking out against Their hands, but then he saw who it was: a face that nearly mirrored his own, with the same freckled nose and angled jaw. Only the eyes were different. Mark had their mother's eyes, a complex blue-green.

"Come on, bud," the older boy said. "Time to go."

"How'd you find me?"

"What, you think you're the only one who ever came down here? I'm the one who showed you the way."

"I don't want to go."

"Hey."

"Don't let Them take me."

"Luke." Mark's face was a jumbled mess of kindness, guilt, and grief. "Come on."

The weight of his sadness rolled itself into a stone that lodged in Luke's throat. After a few minutes of silence, he wiped his nose on his sleeve and nodded.

They were waiting, of course. Mark didn't tell Them where he had found Luke, which made Luke feel absurdly grateful. They were flustered and upset, or at least pretended to be; Luke didn't quite believe Them, and when They asked him why he had run he simply stared at them until They turned away and busied themselves with other things. As They led him to the car, Luke saw Mark's battered motorcycle leaning against the side of the garage and for an instant his muscles tightened and he wanted to grab it and speed down the driveway, but Mark must have seen him looking that way and put an arm around Luke's shoulders. "No way, kid," he said. One of Them glanced back, but said nothing.

His shoulders bent by obedience, Luke climbed into the backseat of the car and Mark leaned in to put a little suitcase at his feet. Luke looked up at him and tried to speak around the stone. "Bye," he whispered.

Mark gripped his arm. "You'll be okay," he said. "Write to me, huh?"

"Yeah."

As the car rolled away from the house where he had grown up, Luke thought about his last normal day, when he had brought a salamander up from the creek and walked into the kitchen with muddy shoes. His mother had been at the sink, and she had flicked soapy water at him with a chagrined laugh. _Luke_ , she had said, _how do you always manage to get so filthy?_ She had scrubbed his hands in that soapy water, in the kitchen with the orange and yellow linoleum, the chipped cabinet door above the paper towel rack, the permanent stain on the counter where he had spilled a container of motor oil at the age of three.

His eyes filled with tears. To keep the adults from noticing, he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.

* * *

The delay in their departure meant that they reached their destination in the dead of night. Again Luke was woken, and he sat up with a stiff neck. The moon was only the thinnest waning crescent and hidden by scattered clouds, so his view of the yard was very vague; he thought there was a field behind the unassuming house, beyond which was a darker area that might have been tall trees.

The porch light came on as They took Luke across the yard, and a broad-shouldered man opened the screen door and welcomed them inside. "The baby is asleep," he warned them, and they crept into a shadowy kitchen. He took the suitcase from Luke's hand. "Hello, Luke. We're glad you're here."

"Thank you, sir," said Luke, less because he felt thankful and more because it was expected of him.

Suddenly there was a loud thumping above their heads that made them all jump. The man sighed, but he was also smiling. "Jack's up," he said, as the thumping resolved itself into footsteps and a small figure burst through a door on the far side of the room. Luke's first impression of Jackson Parker was of bare feet, striped pajamas, and an expression of frank curiosity.

"Hi," he said, "I'm Jack! Sorry about your mom. You're going to sleep in my room!"

"Speaking of which," said the man, "Jack, show Luke the bathroom and take him upstairs. He must be tired. We'll see you in the morning, Luke."

The bathroom was tucked beneath the stairs and had one angled ceiling. Jackson carried Luke's suitcase, and though they could hear the father talking quietly with Them in the kitchen, Luke didn't care what they were saying. Jackson led him up the stairs, across a brief landing, and into a room that obviously belonged to him, strewn with the paraphernalia of childhood: a folder of baseball cards, a few old and well-loved stuffed animals on a shelf, a collection of rather ordinary rocks. A hand-built toy box had been moved to make space for a trundle bed, and it was here that Jackson deposited Luke's suitcase.

"This is your bed," he said. "I've never shared a room before. Hey, wanna go down to the creek tomorrow? I used to go with Maggie and Nat, but they don't like to so much anymore."

"Maybe."

"Okay, yeah, I guess you're tired. G'night."

Jackson jumped into his own bed and balled up beneath the rumpled blanket, and judging by his gentle snores, was asleep within moments. Luke stretched out beside his suitcase on unfamiliar sheets full of unfamiliar smells, looking across the little room at the sturdy wooden frame of Jackson's bed. Above the boy's sleeping form, Luke saw an odd patch of darker color on the wall, regularly-edged. He stared at it for some time, until he finally fell asleep.

"Hey."

Luke woke slowly, feeling groggy and disoriented. Where was he? Morning sunlight poured through strange curtains, lighting a room he didn't recognize. Then, "Hey," said the voice again, and Luke saw Jackson in the doorway and recognized the pajamas.

"Oh," said Luke, and rubbed his eyes. "Hey."

"Time for breakfast," said Jackson. "It's kinda late, but mom said to let you sleep." He ambled over and set a plate and a glass on the floor beside the trundle bed; on the plate was an omelet with what looked like onions and ham, and the glass had milk. "I never much like drinking milk," went on Jackson, "but mom says it's good for your bones."

He retreated to his own bed, swinging his legs and watching as Luke picked at the food. "Can you keep a secret?" he asked abruptly.

Luke (who had been ignoring the boy's gaze, disliking such scrutiny) shrugged one shoulder. "I guess so."

"I might not be here much longer."

"Yeah?"

"Yep. I might get to go away to school this year. Like, not the school in town. Somewhere else."

"Oh."

"If I do, you can have my stuff while I'm gone."

"Uh, thanks."

"I'll be back for Christmas, though. If I go, I mean."

Luke sipped the milk. "How come you don't know if you're going or not?" He didn't much care about the answer, but he was grateful for a conversation that wasn't about his mother.

"Oh. Well, I sent in my, um, my application. But I don't know if I've been accepted yet."

"When do you find out?"

"Sometime soon. I've been waiting _all summer_. It's really hard to wait, you know?"

"Mm."

After breakfast, when he could no longer avoid it, Luke followed Jackson back down the stairs. The kitchen was filled with sunshine and happy voices. The mother greeted Luke with warmth, the father with joviality, and the girls with shy friendliness. The baby regarded him solemnly from her high chair with eyes the same soft gray shared by her mother and Jackson, a gray that seemed to catch and hold the light.

"Anything yet?" asked Jackson, snatching up a piece of toast.

"No, dear," said Mrs Parker. "Try to be patient."

"Yeah, I know." Jackson didn't seem put out. He nudged open the screen door and went onto the porch, letting it bang closed behind him.

"Did you have enough to eat, Luke?" asked the mother.

Luke nodded, looking out the window. It was hard to look at her. "Yes, ma'am."

"I'm sure Jack would love to show you around, if you're not too tired."

"Yeah. Maybe later."

"No problem, kiddo," said the father. "You just relax."

Luke used the bathroom and wandered back upstairs. He sat on the little bed— _my bed_ , he reminded himself, but the thought made him uncomfortable—for a while, hardly noticing the passage of time. Faintly, Jackson's voice reached him through the window, the shouts and squeals of some private game in the big field. Luke forced his arms to move, dragging his suitcase closer and opening the clasps. Mark had packed the bag for him, so he had no idea what it might contain. He flipped open the lid and on the very top, folded neatly, was the Green Bay Packers poster that had always hung on the wall of his bedroom. Bart Starr, Carroll Dale, Ray Nitschke…their familiar faces had beamed down from his wall for five years, and the sight of them connected him with violent suddenness to the life he had left behind. He could hardly breathe.

He rested his head on his knees and breathed, eyes squeezed tightly shut to keep the tears at bay. _No going back_ , he thought, trying to be firm. _That's all gone now, so just get used to it._ After a time he felt more calm. Lifting his head, he noticed again the darker rectangle on the wallpaper above Jackson's bed. This time he recognized it immediately for what it was, if only because of the poster dangling from his fingers: just like Luke, Jackson had hung some beloved image on his wall. Luke frowned. That wall did not receive direct sunlight, so the discoloration wasn't stark, but it was certainly noticeable, as though the poster had been taken down only recently. But what had it been, and why was it gone?

It was a welcome distraction from a situation that otherwise seemed bleak. Luke had always enjoyed mystery stories, and he carefully folded the poster and returned it to the suitcase, embracing the intrigue, however minor it might be.

First he opened the lid of the toy box, but there was nothing there but a jumbled set of Tinker Toys and a couple of thoroughly dented metal cars. He was reluctant to look through Jackson's dresser and so put off that option by poking around the rest of the room, moving quietly so that the family downstairs wouldn't hear his footsteps. He nearly tripped over the trailing end of Jackson's blanket, which reminded him to check beneath the mattress: a favorite hiding place of his own. _At least, it was_ , he thought before he could stop himself. He gave his head a shake and concentrated on the task at hand.

Kneeling beside the bed and leaning his shoulder against the mattress, he pushed up from his knees, peering into the space between the mattress and the slats of the bed frame…and there it was, a poster laying face-down on the slats. Luke felt a little disappointed to have solved the puzzle so quickly. For the sake of completing his self-appointed mission, he reached in and lifted a corner of the poster. What had caught Jackson's interest? Baseball? Maybe basket—

Something moved beneath his fingers.

Luke dropped the poster immediately, along with the mattress, losing his balance and falling onto one hip with a soft _thud_. He waited, heart pounding, but no one came up the stairs to check on the noise. When he was sure he wouldn't be disturbed, he looked warily at the bed again. _Spider. It was a spider._ … _Wasn't it?_

Unwilling to risk lifting the mattress again, Luke lay on his back and scooted his head and shoulders beneath the bed. The two-inch slats had nearly equal gaps between them, and though it was dark, he could see the pale outline of the poster behind the slats. Again a flash of movement startled him and he flinched away, but no spiders appeared, nor pests of any kind. Slowly he leaned closer, angling his body to allow more light under the bed, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

It was as though a television screen or a movie reel had been captured in the poster. Between two slats he saw a large crowd packed into spectators' stands, cheering. He focused on one tiny man and saw the hands clapping. Even where one corner of the poster had been folded, the small audience flexed with the crease, their impossible motion undisturbed. Another gap showed a large circle, like a vertical hoop, and what looked to Luke like the bristles of an old-fashioned broom. And…was that a leg? Carefully he lifted a hand and, after a moment's hesitation, touched the poster; it felt like simple paper, just like his own. He gently applied pressure with his fingers and scooted the poster a little to one side, revealing a leg strapped with a large shin-guard, an arm holding a large red ball, a beaming face with dark hair sticking out from beneath a thin leather helmet. As the man tossed the ball to his other hand with a silent laugh, Luke tilted his head, squinting to be sure.

It was true: the man was sitting on a broom, hovering high above a stadium.

Luke watched the poster for a long time, much longer than the nagging voice in the back of his mind advised. He tried whispering a question, but there was no response, and the longer he watched, the more he became certain that the moving image was a simple loop of motion. The man on the broom cradled the ball in his left arm, then tossed it to his right hand and spun it on a finger before bumping it with an elbow back to his left arm and tossing his head with a cocky grin. There were words at the bottom of the poster, and Luke scooted it a little further, lining it up with the path of the slats to read: _A Star-Spangled Hero! Henry Orticelle, Chaser and Team Captain!_

Below in the kitchen the porch door slammed, and Luke slammed back into reality with force. He grabbed the edge of the bedframe and pulled, exiting the dusty space beneath the bed and scrambling across the room to his own bed below the window. He flipped open the suitcase again as Jackson came stomping up the stairs—he seemed incapable of moving with any kind of stealth or subtlety—and was holding his Green Bay poster when the other boy entered the room.

"Hey," said Jackson around a mouthful of apple. "What's that?"

Luke held up the poster, still a little too buzzed with the adrenaline of almost getting caught to trust himself to speak. Jackson plopped down onto the bed beside him, studying the poster with interest. "Football, huh?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Where are they from?"

"Wisconsin."

"I thought you were from North Carolina."

"I am. There isn't a football team there. And the Packers are the best, anyway."

"Neat." Jackson took another bite of his apple.

Luke smoothed out the poster on his knees. "Do you like any sports?"

"Oh _yeah!_ " When Jackson grinned, his entire face was involved; even his ears seemed to stick out a little farther with the force of his enthusiasm. But then, just as dramatically, the joy fled, leaving a strange wariness. "Um, I mean, I guess so. Some. Hey, I found a big crayfish down in the creek. Wanna go see if we can find it again?"

"Maybe later. I guess I should unpack."

"Sure, yeah, that sounds good. Mom cleaned out the top drawer of the dresser, so you can have that. And lunch is ready, too."

"Okay. I'll be down in a sec."

Jackson scooted out of the room and clomped down the stairs. Luke looked thoughtfully at his own poster for a moment, and then began emptying the suitcase.

* * *

 _Dear Mark:_

 _Things are okay here in Kentucky. I miss our house, but the Parkers are really nice and there's a boy here named Jackson who's my age. How is college? Did you find a good job yet? You know if you ever want to go home, even if it's not our home, this place is nice and the Parkers would be happy if you came. You could have my bed. Maybe for Christmas? Write me back so I know you're doing okay. Oh and Jack wants to write something._

 _Hi Mark! Luke is great! We're best friends now! Come visit so you can teach us the yoyo trick Luke talks about! Bye!_

 _Anyway. Write soon._

 _Luke_

* * *

After ten days, Luke had to admit that he was obsessed. He knew, somewhere deeper than what he could articulate, that his fascination with Jackson's hidden poster was a desperate way of blocking out thoughts of his mother and brother. But as distractions go, the poster was something special. It was, in fact, positively magical.

The days were warm, and rain or shine Jackson could not be kept indoors, and since the adults and the girls let Luke be, giving him the space he needed to adjust to his new surroundings, he had plenty of time to himself and he spent most of it studying the poster. He had even taken it out from beneath the mattress several times—only when he could hear Jackson outside, that was—and had memorized every detail, down to the single grommet that Henry Orticelle had missed while lacing up his boots. He caught tantalizing glimpses of other broom-riders in the background, moving too quickly to be studied.

The most maddening thing about it was that the paper was so ordinary. He could contort the sheet any way he wanted, and the image continued its loop of motion undisturbed. It was not a screen, had no power cord or buttons…it was just a poster with a moving image. Luke had never seen anything like it. If it had been on the wall and Jackson had offered an explanation for it, Luke, in his apathy, probably would have accepted it; but the fact that it had been taken down and hidden before his arrival convinced him that it was as extraordinary as it seemed.

In fact, his possession of the poster also made Jackson more interesting to Luke. Jackson was a friendly and open boy with boundless energy, not unlike a dozen others that Luke had known in his former school and neighborhood, but his ability to keep such a strange secret made Luke wonder what else his new roommate might be hiding.

On his twelfth full day in the Parker house, and after approximately the twentieth time that Jackson had asked Luke to go with him to the creek, Luke finally agreed. He would much rather have stayed inside and watched the poster, but he had the growing feeling that his new caretakers, though understanding, were concerned. He thought they might take him to what his brother called a _shrink_ if that concern became too great, and since the last thing he wanted was to talk about his feelings, he pulled on his sneakers and followed a delighted Jackson out into the haze of the day's approaching heat.

The field that stretched behind the house was too big and unkempt to be called a yard, but was not given any particular purpose. The yellow grass was almost as tall as the boys but Jackson had made several trails through it, meandering footpaths that made the way much longer but passed by several landmarks of interest. Jackson took Luke to the aptly‑named Big Rock, upon which they climbed to look back at the house across the sea of grass and wild berry bushes, and then past the bank with the hole where the foxes had lived the previous spring, and to the dead tree with the knothole where the raccoons hid their treasures. Jackson scrambled up with practiced ease and, after some coaxing, Luke followed; from the hole they recovered several plastic beads, a spoon, and Jackson's lucky rabbit foot, and in the triumph of that discovery Luke even smiled, surprising himself. The air was hot, heavy with the scent of earth and the blooms of late spring, but the air lightened as they passed beyond the curtain of shade cast by the woods.

The creek was a twisting band of quick‑running water between steep inclines, rocky with pools of various sizes and only fifteen feet across at its widest point. The boys had a very productive morning wading through the creek, pants rolled up past their knees, turning over rocks to find the tiny snails that Jackson called periwinkles (a name previously unknown to Luke), collecting them in a shallow sandy pool for no reason other than that they could. At one point Jackson uncovered the big crayfish again, and they filled the woods with their shouts and squeals, each yelling for the other to grab it but neither brave enough to chance the grip of the two‑inch‑long claws.

Altogether it was the first day since he had come to this place that Luke could actually call good. His brother was nine years older than him, and Luke was used to conducting his outdoor adventures alone. But jumping through the creek, soaked and muddy, he realized how nice it was to have someone there with him. Jackson was mercurial and dynamic, living entirely in the thrill of the moment, and despite all the differences between them, as they sat among the ferns with their feet trailing in the cold water and Jackson chewed on the stem of a wild onion, Luke decided that he liked the other boy.

"When do you find out about that school?" he asked.

"Soon," said Jackson, flicking away the onion stem. "My uncle works there, so I bet he gets my application looked at pretty quick."

"Your uncle's a teacher?"

"Yep. He's gonna come visit, I think, to tell me how it turned out, so you'll get to meet him. He's pretty cool."

"Hm." With a toe, Luke stirred up the silty bottom of the creek and watched the swirls eddy away downstream. He was trying to think of a graceful way to bring the conversation closer to the amazing poster. "You ever go out for sports?"

"Not really. I play baseball with the guys sometimes."

"Does this school you want to go to have any teams?"

Jackson gave him a quick sidelong glance that startled Luke; he realized, perhaps too late, that Jackson might be less easy to fool than he had assumed. "Yeah," Jackson said, "but they're really really good. I might try out, if I think I'm good enough."

Luke pretended nonchalance. "Yeah. So, uh, what does your uncle teach?"

"Chemistry. I hope I have class with him!"

"But you're only in fifth grade, right? I mean, you're gonna start sixth?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't think kids our age took chemistry class."

"At this school they do! All kinds of other stuff, too. It's the best school in the whole entire country. My dad went there, and my grandma, and your—"

Jackson stopped, his mouth hanging open. They stared at each other in silence across the babbling water, and bit by bit Jackson's face crumbled into an expression of guilt.

"You said _your_ ," said Luke. "Like, mine? My what?"

Jackson pressed his lips together and cast a look toward the field and the house that was both longing and frightened. "Your grandma," he said at last.

"Which one?"

"I dunno, some funny name."

"Joan or Helena?"

"Yeah, Helena, that's it. Your grandma and my grandma went to this school together. My mom and my uncle used to go with Gran to visit your grandma. They even saw you once, when you were just a baby. That's why the people called my mom and dad, when your mom…you know."

Luke was shocked. Jackson's smile resurfaced. "Didn't you wonder why you ended up here?"

"I…I didn't really think about it."

"Guess not. My Gran was roommates with your grandma. Helen?"

"Helena. She died when I was little."

"I know, my dad told me. Your dad wasn't, uh, I mean, he didn't go to this school, or he might have met my dad there. My uncle, too. That's how my parents met! My dad had a roommate who was his best friend—that's my Uncle Heath. Mom is Uncle Heath's sister."

"Uh-huh. What's this school, again?"

Jackson hesitated, gnawing another onion stem and looking at Luke shrewdly. "It's called Emerald Hill," he said at last.

"I've never heard of it."

"Well, it's kind of special."

"What do you mean? It's some kind of boarding school, right?"

"Yeah, but…" Again Jackson glanced in the direction of the house, and when he turned back, frank excitement shone in his face. And then he said something very strange, something that startled Luke. At first Luke thought Jackson was joking, but then he thought of the poster, and his smirk faded. Jackson was very serious, and Luke had no idea how to answer.

"Luke," said Jackson, "do you believe in magic?"

"Uh," said Luke, after a long moment of silence. "What?"

Jackson leapt to his feet with surprising dexterity, balancing on two mossy rocks. "Come on," he said, "I'll show you."


	3. Chapter 3

Jackson ran all the way to the house, kicking up dead leaves beneath his ratty old sneakers, disappearing through the trees. In his excitement he must have forgotten that Luke was not familiar with the paths, and Luke was left to find his own way back. But his sense of direction served him well, and he took only one wrong turn in the maze of the field before emerging from the tall grass into the scraggly yard behind the house.

In the kitchen, Mrs Parker was mixing something in a large bowl, and when Luke entered she gestured toward the stairway with her wooden spoon. Winded from the long jog, Luke gasped out a thanks and mounted the stairs. In the room they now shared, Jackson was bouncing impatiently on the balls of his feet. He pulled Luke through the door and closed it behind him, listening for a moment, but the girls were occupied in their own room and did not investigate their arrival.

"Okay," said Jackson, hushed. "I'm gonna show you something. You said you can keep a secret, right?"

"Yeah."

"That's not good enough." Jackson spat into the palm of one hand and held it out. "You have to _swear_."

Luke was strangely reassured to find that this protocol, at least, was the same in Kentucky as it had been in North Carolina. He spat into his own hand and clasped Jackson's, giving it a firm shake. Jackson squinted at him warily for a moment and then grinned, pumping Luke's hand heartily before releasing it. "Good," he said. "'Cause this is really important. It's our family secret. You're part of the family now, so I'm gonna tell you. We were going to, you know. Later."

He turned (wiping his hand quickly on the leg of his jeans), and Luke was not surprised when Jackson lifted the mattress of his bed and retrieved the poster. He watched it for a moment with a smile of pure joy, and then reverently held it out to Luke. "I had it above my bed," he said, "but Dad said I should take it down until it was safe for you to know."

Luke looked over the moving picture, trying to pretend he was seeing it for the first time. He turned it over, scratched at one corner ("Careful, there," Jackson warned), examined every detail. "How is it doing that?" he asked, and he didn't have to pretend to be intensely curious.

Jackson leaned in, and there was a wild glint in his eyes. " _Magic_ ," he whispered. "There are charmed cameras that take photos like this. I have a couple of me, but we had to take those down, too."

Luke watched the poster, as he had so many times over the past week, and found himself just as enchanted as he had been the first time. His imagination was as healthy as that of any ten-year-old boy, but, like most kids his age, he had grown out of the sincere belief in magic; he was beginning to understand, on a basic level, the rules that governed the world. But looking at this extraordinary piece of paper while a new friend breathed the word _magic_ , he felt the deep places of his soul begin to stir and stretch, old muscles that had seen frequent use in his solitary play in the woods but had lain dormant since the death of his mother. He felt himself moved, and wanted to believe.

He wanted to believe…but couldn't quite manage it.

Jackson was watching him expectantly, so Luke fumbled for a coherent question, deciding to humor him. "So what does this—" he gestured with the poster—"have to do with that school?"  
"Emerald Hill," said Jackson. "Well, really it's the Emerald Hill American Academy of Magic. My dad went there, and your grandma and mine, and my uncle's a teacher there!"

"My Grandma Helena was…magical?"

"A _witch_ ," said Jackson, a little too loudly, and he hunched down with both hands over his mouth until they could be sure that no one had heard. Dimly, they heard the phone ring downstairs in the kitchen. "She was a witch. And my dad and uncle are wizards, and I…" He heaved a sigh that held all the yearning a young boy can muster. "I _might_ be. My mom isn't, so it's hard to tell. Most of the time if both parents are magic, their kids will be too, but not when only one is. Maggie and Nat aren't, they're Muggles like Mom. But we all think the baby's got magic, so maybe I do too! We sent in my application, and I just know Uncle Heath's gonna get it checked as quick as he can, and then we'll _know_."

Luke sat on the edge of his trundle bed. He had no memory of his Grandma Helena, who had passed away when he was three, but back home there had been a photo on the mantel of the austere old woman holding little Luke on her lap. "I don't get it," he said. "How do you know if someone's magic or not?"

"You do an application to let them know you want to go, and then one of the teachers comes to visit and they give you a test that shows if you have magic or not."

"Oh." That sounded surprisingly mundane to Luke. "So you really want to be magic? To be a…a wizard?"

" _Duh_. With my own wand, and an Emerald Hill herald and style, and trips to Red River, and an owl, and a real Quidditch broom, and a whole secret world that I can be part of! Of _course_ I want it!"

Luke ignored most of this; it made no sense to him. But one word stood out. "A broom? You mean like this one?" He brandished the poster.

"Yeah! That's Henry Orticelle. He's _amazing_. Dad showed us a tape of one of his games last year. He wasn't supposed to, but he really loves Quidditch. He got me the poster, too."  
"It _is_ a sport, then?"

"Flying on broomsticks! With the Quaffle and the Bludgers and the beautiful Golden Snitch!" Jackson spread his arms wide and skipped around the room making _woosh_ ing sounds; Luke lifted his legs out of the way.

"It, uh, sounds like fun. I bet you'll get in."

"Oh man, I sure hope so!" Jackson leapt spread-eagled onto his bed and lay looking up at the ceiling. "Too bad you can't come, too."

Luke smiled, feeling indulgent. He could almost believe that the entire thing was an elaborate fantasy…except for the moving poster. That he couldn't dismiss. "Yeah, too bad. My Grandma was magic, but my parents weren't, huh?"

"Nope. Probably 'cause your gran married a Muggle. Your dad have any brothers or sisters?"

"I don't think so. I don't remember much of him. He died when I was five."

"Really? Oh yeah, I guess Dad said that. Too bad. If your gran'd had more kids, they might have been witches or wizards."

"But not me or my brother."

Jackson paused, then rolled onto his side, propped up on an elbow. "You know, just because your parents weren't doesn't mean you couldn't be. Sometimes families that never had magic suddenly have a kid who's a wizard. Your gran was magic…and maybe more in her family! Who knows? We should ask! It's not too late for you to apply!"

He bounced to his feet and grabbed Luke's arm. "Wait," said Luke, "I thought I wasn't supposed to know about any of this!"

"I _told_ you, we were gonna tell you anyway. Dad'll understand. Come _on!_ "

Jackson thundered down the stairs with Luke in tow, and Luke had to move nimbly to keep from being dragged off of his feet. Mrs Parker was still in the kitchen, and looked at them with raised eyebrows and an amused little smile as Jackson skidded to a stop.

" _Mom!_ " Jackson shouted (enthusiasm tended to add several decibels to his voice). "Mom, you've gotta call Uncle Heath! Luke could send in an application! He _could_ be magic, couldn't he? Like his gran! He—"

"Whoa, there," said Mrs Parker gently, holding up a hand; Jackson quieted at once. His sisters, disturbed by the noise, also came down the stairs, and Mrs Parker threw up her hands in defeat. "So much for our big secret. It's okay, Jack. As a matter of fact, I just got a call from your uncle. He'll be here in time for dinner."

Jackson's eyes bulged, and his mouth worked soundlessly. Margaret—the eldest of the Parker children at fourteen—squeezed his shoulders with a smile. "Tonight?" she asked.

"That's right." Mrs Parker retrieved a tray of biscuits from the oven. "The wait is over, love."

" _Whoopee!_ " Jackson shrieked, leaping into the air with one fist held high. "Hey, what about Luke?"

"As to that, you're right, and Uncle Heath agrees. You'll both be taking the test tonight."

Luke stared between the four of them, trying not to look as dumbfounded as he felt. Surely an adult wouldn't play along so seriously. And that poster… "It's real?" he asked in a small voice.

Mrs Parker took off her oven mitts and looked at Luke kindly. "Yes," she said. "You'll learn much more about it one way or another, but…" She gave a little shrug. "It's possible, dear. Are you all right?"

Luke felt shaky. "Uh, maybe."

"You better sit down," said Margaret. She pulled out a chair at the table and ushered Luke there, and Natalie brought him a glass of water, which he sipped gratefully, as his throat was suddenly dry.

Margaret gently nudged her mother toward the table and began removing the biscuits to a plate; Mrs Parker took a seat, and rested her chin in her hands. "Did you think Jack was making it up?"

Jack's head snapped around to look at Luke, who tried to ignore him for the moment. "I guess so," he said.

"I know it sounds pretty crazy. I didn't believe it at first, either, when my brother was accepted. Even if you aren't, you're part of a half-and-half family now, so you have a lot to learn."

"Half-and-half? Does that mean I got in?" Jack threw himself half across the table, reaching for his mother with supplicating hands, which she pushed away with a laugh.

"Honey, you haven't even taken the test yet. Every application is reviewed at the school," she told Luke, "and then a teacher is sent to give the test in person."

"Okay. But who gets an application? I didn't get one."

"Well, usually, if there's magic in your family, you get an application when you turn ten. They try to keep track of magical bloodlines so no one gets missed, even if it lapses for a generation or two. When we told Heath who you are—who your grandmother was—he looked into it and said that you absolutely deserve an application. I'm not sure why they missed you in the first place."

"Maybe we can _both_ go!" shouted Jackson, knocking over his chair in his excitement.

Natalie righted the chair. "Hey Jack, wanna race to get the mail?"

"Oh! Yeah, sure!"

The screen door banged twice as Jackson disappeared through it. "Good girl," said Mrs Parker, smiling after them. "That will help him burn off some of that energy."

Luke smiled; the mailbox was at the end of the long driveway. "So there's…there's some kind of test I have to take? But I don't know anything about this stuff. I'll fail for sure."

"Oh, it's not that kind of test. Sorry if we gave you the wrong impression. If there's magic in you, you'll pass. Simple as that. And I think you'll like my brother. Did you know he and I held you once, when you were a baby?"

"Jack said something about that."

"My mother and your grandmother were very good friends. I'm sorry we didn't explain any of that to you sooner. We just wanted to be sure that you had some time to settle in. I'm sure it's been confusing enough even without finding out about a secret society of magic users."

"So…" Luke looked at her searchingly. He felt as though his mind were treading across a very slippery surface, not quite able to find purchase. "Witches and wizards and flying brooms and like…cauldrons and spells and stuff?"

Margaret laughed, and Mrs Parker reached across the table and put her hand over Luke's. "All of it and more."

"But…but…how?"

She tucked her hair behind her ears and settled back in her chair. "Like I said, Luke, I grew up in a family that was half magical and half Muggle. That's their word for people without magic—Muggles."

Luke mouthed the word to himself.

"My mother was a witch, my father a Muggle. I was only four years old when my brother filled out his application. My mother hadn't told us about any of it, and if we had both turned out to be Muggles, she probably never would have. We just thought he was applying to a boarding school. And then a strange woman came to our house and asked him strange questions, and suddenly he was a wizard and my mother was showing us her wand and we were just…stunned."

"Did you apply?"

"I did. But when I took the test, nothing happened. They even let me try a second time. But whatever is in my mother and my brother is not in me."

Luke thought she looked a little sad when she said this. "Does that bother you?"

"Not anymore, but at first it did. Heath told me such marvelous stories, and I couldn't believe that I would never get to be part of it. Mother was very comforting, but…well, she was disappointed, and she didn't hide it very well. I grew much closer with my father during my teenage years, because it was his world that I belonged to. That's why Mr Parker and I have tried very hard to make life as normal as possible for our kids. Maggie and Natalie both took the test, of course, when they each were ten, but they both take after me."

Luke looked at Margaret, who shrugged. "It is what it is. At least no one's ever made me feel bad about it.

"Jack said the baby might be magic?"

Mrs Parker laughed. "Back in early May we had the first big thunderstorm of the year, and Delia woke up scared, and…all the lights in the house turned on."

"She did that?"  
"She did. At least, it wasn't me or Mr Parker or the girls, and Jack slept through the whole thing. Some kids who have magic show signs of it, even very early."

"Did Jack?"

"Not that we know of. But that's just as common. The test could go either way."

A volley of footsteps warned of the approach of Jackson and Natalie and they burst through the door, depositing a few letters on the table and falling into their chairs. "What time…is Uncle Heath…coming?" Jackson gasped.

"In time for dinner, I told you." Mrs Parker looked through the letters.

"Before Dad?"

"Maybe. It depends on how quickly he can get his work done. Are you ready for lunch, boys?"

" _Yes!_ " Jackson snatched up Luke's water glass and drank what was left. "Hey Mom, Uncle Heath is at school, right? So he has to come by Floo, right?"

"That's right, dear. Luke, Floo is—"

"No, wait, don't tell him! I want it to be a surprise!"  
"Honey, I think poor Luke has had enough surprises for one day."

"It's okay," said Luke. He was tired of intrigue and explanations for the moment.

Jackson insisted that they wait for his uncle in the den, so Mrs Parker served their lunch to them on the carpet as they played checkers. Then the four children built a fort in the corner of the den, opposite the incongruously large and grand fireplace, using cushions and pillows from all of the couches. Jackson was jumpier than usual, but Luke found it surprisingly easy to ignore both Jackson's tension and the low continuous current of his own confusion; he focused on anchoring the afghan quilt to make a door for their fort and tried, for at least a little while, to pretend that everything was normal, that this was just a quiet day at home and he had nothing to wonder about besides what might be for dinner…

And then, at 3:45 in the afternoon, the fireplace exploded.


	4. Chapter 4

There was a burst of green light and a wash of strangely chilly air. Luke stumbled, falling into and collapsing one wall of the cushion fort, and as he shielded his eyes from the glare, he thought he saw heavy black lines: words on a page, or bare branches against a winter sky, and someone far away was shouting. Or screaming?

The sound—which was nothing more than a faint ringing in his ears—melded quickly into the happy cries of Jackson, Margaret, and Natalie. Luke pushed away the afghan, which had fallen over him, and saw that the other children were greeting a tall man who was silhouetted against a bright blaze in the fireplace…where, seconds before, there had been no fire at all. Luke looked more closely and confirmed that there wasn't even any wood in the fireplace; the flames danced in midair and, as he watched, rolled and flickered, one consuming the other until they had disappeared.

"Wasn't that great?" Jackson said, pulling Luke to his feet. "That's Floo! You can travel between fireplaces! There's this special powder and you have to tell the fire where you want to go and—"

"Hush now," said Mrs Parker, who had come in from the kitchen. (Luke got the idea that she spent a lot of time hushing her boisterous son, but neither of them seemed to mind.) She embraced the man, and then waved Luke over. "Luke, this is my brother, Doctor Heath Lunsford."

Though he was not quite eleven years old, Luke was familiar enough with the customs of tact to at least attempt not to stare. He tried to concentrate on the man's other features. Lunsford's relation to Mrs Parker was immediately apparent in his slim build, wavy brown hair, and wide gray eyes, but he looked a good deal older, his fine‑featured face lined, the hair streaked with gray at the temples. He was dressed rather fantastically in dark floor-length robes, the kind that Luke had only ever seen on the covers of the fantasy novels his older brother had enjoyed.

Doctor Lunsford smiled—or tried to. "It's all right," he said. "We'll get along much better if you go ahead and look. I got it when I was a teenager."

Despite the permission, Luke still felt like a trespasser when he finally allowed his eyes to settle on the scar. Lunsford's face, almost delicate in other respects, was shockingly marred by a sharp downward pull to one corner of his mouth; it looked puckered as though from a bad wound that had healed poorly, and the scar wandered its way down to his chin, permanently twisting the left half of his mouth into a terrible frown. "Sorry," Luke muttered, looking away again.

"What for?"

Luke paused. "Um, I'm not sure."

"Then don't be sorry." Lunsford's voice was very kind, and he spoke with a certain deliberation that Luke supposed was from training himself to speak normally despite the scar. "I'm glad to meet you, Lucas."

"You too, sir." Luke shook Lunsford's hand. "You knew my grandma?"

"I did. She was a fine woman, and she loved you very much. _Yes_ , Jack, I brought the tests," he laughed, touching Jackson's hair with obvious affection as Jackson bounced around him. "But shouldn't we wait until your dad gets home? He'd hate to miss it."

" _Uhhhhh_ ," groaned Jackson, sinking to the carpet. His sisters giggled.

"What about Luke?" asked Natalie.

Everyone looked at him, and Luke quailed under the sudden scrutiny. "I'd rather wait till after Jack does his," he said.

"Fair enough," said Lunsford. He moved toward the couch, but stopped when he saw that the cushions were all piled up in a corner of the room. With perfect aplomb, he folded his long legs and sat on the floor, gray robes pooling around him. The children also sat, and Mrs Parker, after retrieving the baby from her crib (the commotion had woken little Delia from her nap). Lunsford held out his arms, but Delia stared at him for a moment and then shied away, snuggling her face into her mother's neck.

"It took a while for the others to warm up to me, too," said Lunsford to Luke, with another of his strange smiles, both gentle and grotesque. "I see you've noticed my, well, unorthodox clothes."

"Those are Emerald Hill robes!" said Jackson, crawling across the rug to point to the crest on the right chest panel of his uncle's robes. "See, there's the Pegasus, and _E.H._ for Emerald Hill, and the gold chains mean he's a teacher. Students have silver chains. Right, Uncle Heath?"

"That's right," said Lunsford. "Students also have an identifying patch on the left."

"With your style and herald! That's your color, and which animal, there are six different animals, and—"

"Jack," said Mrs Parker. Jackson's mouth closed with an audible _pop_.

Lunsford gave his sister a grateful glance. "How much do you know, Luke?"

"Not much," Luke said. "Just that my grandma was a…a witch," he said carefully, encouraged when no one smirked, "and she went to this school. Oh, and Jack showed me his poster of a guy on a broom."

"It's Henry Orticelle," said Jackson. "The one Dad got me last year."

Lunsford was nodding. "That's a good start. We'll try to take it slowly. Here." With a practiced flick of his wrist, he was suddenly holding a stick. To Luke it appeared to be nothing more than that, a narrow bit of wood tapering slightly to one end, but when Lunsford lifted it he recognized it at once, if only by the way it was held.

"A wand," he said.

"Yes. Would you like to see a spell?"

"Ooh!" Jackson catapulted to his feet—he seemed to have this talent, and Luke could not understand the mechanics of it. "Levitate me! _Please_ , Uncle Heath?"

But Lunsford was watching Luke, waiting for his permission. Cautious, but unable to deny a growing excitement (a sort of longing, the same tug he had felt when Jackson had showed him the poster, a wanting to believe), Luke nodded.

At once Lunsford moved the wand in a particular sweeping motion, his eyes big and bright as he looked at Jackson, and then Jackson gasped, clutching at his stomach as though with indigestion; his belly swelled visibly and he rose until his dangling toes left the carpet. Laughing, he pinwheeled his arms to keep from tipping over, but then Lunsford twitched his wand and Jackson moved a few feet to the left, falling to the right from the momentum and turning a slow somersault until he was hanging completely upside‑down, pawing playfully at his sisters as they squealed and shoved him.

"This is a levitation spell," explained Lunsford. There are various degrees of strength, and it can be used on almost anything."

Luke stood. He walked over to Jackson, who had floated close to the collapsed cushion fort. He ran an arm through the air above Jackson, and gave his knee a little push to send him into a slow spin. Jackson rose slightly until his upside-down face was level with Luke's, a huge Cheshire grin on his face. "See?" he said. "Told you it was real."

In that moment, the bubble of wanting that had been growing in Luke's heart suddenly burst. Belief flooded out, washing through him. Luke was reminded powerfully of the time he had gotten caught outside in a summer thunderstorm and had given up trying to make it home; instead he had opened his arms and let the rain pour over him as the thunder rolled, mindful of the danger but feeling invincible. It was a memory of primal joy, one that often returned to him in moments of triumph, and he felt it now. Magic was thunder and lightning, inherent with both power and danger, and belief pattered his soul with joyous droplets until he was saturated. If he had been alone, he might have wept.

"Wow," he managed to say. Jackson cackled with delight.

Lunsford moved his wand and Jackson was lowered gently to the cushion pile, where he scrambled to sit upright. "Whaddaya say, Luke?" he crowed.

"How long has this been going on?" Luke asked, looking at Lunsford, who was watching him. "How long have there been…witches and wizards?"

"As far as we know…" Lunsford gave a little shrug. "Always. Do you find that hard to believe—that there has always been a sprinkling of magic in the human race?"

Luke smiled. "Actually, no."

"Good."

"So…what sort of test do we have to take?"

"It's very simple. Shall I show you?"  
"Okay."

Jackson crowded close, his shoulder touching Luke's, as Natalie scampered to the hearth to retrieve the small briefcase Lunsford had brought with him. Lunsford settled it on the carpet between him and the boys. Luke had no idea what to expect—his imagination flew through options ranging from simple paperwork to a live dragon—but when Lunsford opened the clasps and flipped up the lid, he was mildly disappointed to see, nestled in folds of deep green velvet, two stones.

Lunsford turned the briefcase to give the boys a better look, and they leaned in close; following Jackson's example, Luke did not attempt to touch the stones. They looked perfectly ordinary to Luke: white limestone, he thought, pale and slightly mottled, roughly spherical. "Wow," Jackson breathed. Luke looked up at Lunsford.

"What are they?" he asked.

"Rocks," said Lunsford, smiling. "But they've been drenched in a special formula. We call them dowsing stones. To take the test, you just have to hold one and say a few words. If there's magic in you, something will happen."

"What happens?"

"Yeah," said Jackson, "what?"

Lunsford raised an eyebrow, cryptic. "I've never seen the same reaction twice. We'll just have to wait and see. If anything happens at all," he added, looking pointedly at Jackson.

"I know, I know." But the longing look Jackson gave the dowsing stones suggested otherwise.

"What happened when you took the test?" Luke asked.

"The stone disappeared." Lunsford raised one hand and wiggled the fingers. "Like it had melted into my hand. It never did show up again."

"I remember," said Mrs Parker.

"Do you? You were only four."

"I'll never forget it. I had nightmares about that woman for years."

"Who, old Joyner? She's so sweet." Lunsford laughed a little, but then his expression softened. "You never told me that, Mary."

"A stranger came into our house, announced that she was a witch, gave you a magical disappearing rock, and informed us that you were going to school to be a wizard. That's the sort of thing that sticks with you. Her face when she offered you the stone…" Mrs Parker shivered. The baby squirmed, looking up at her mother.

"Well, she took her task very seriously. As do we all."

Luke restrained the urge to raise his hand before asking a question. "Sir?" he said.

"You can call me Uncle Heath if you like, Lucas. Or Doctor Lunsford, if that makes you more comfortable."

"Okay. You give applications to kids with magic in their families, right? But Jack, you said sometimes families with no magic have kids that do. How do you find them?"

"Actually, there's an entire governmental department dedicated to exactly that."

Luke was startled. "Really?"

"Well, wizarding government."

"There's a whole government?"

"There has to be. Magic is extremely powerful, and parts of it have to be carefully regulated. Plus, in order to maintain secrecy, there are some laws—and crimes—that Muggle society cannot know about." He gave a smile that Luke assumed was meant to be comforting, though the effect was muddled by the scar. "That's much more than you need to worry about at the moment."

Luke nodded, making an effort to put aside the dozens of questions that had occurred to him. "So, if I'm not magic, nothing will happen when I hold the stone?"

"That's right."

"My stone will react," said Jackson, puffing out his chest like a bantam. "I'm a wizard. I can _feel_ it!"

"Jack," said Lunsford, so solemnly that Jackson deflated. "It's very important for you to remember—for all of us to remember," he added, including Margaret, Natalie, and Mrs Parker in his glance—"that there is no more nobility or freedom, or even excitement, in the life of a wizard than in that of a Muggle. Each of us is meant for different things. No one thing is inherently better than another."

"That's absolutely right," said Mrs Parker.

Jackson chewed on his lip, looking somewhat chastised. But there was a gleam in his eye, and Luke knew that Jackson would be devastated if the stone did not react in his hand.

The mood had changed. Mrs Parker took little Delia to the kitchen for a snack, and Margaret and Natalie regaled their uncle with the family's adventures camping at the lake the previous month. Lunsford had closed the briefcase, but Jackson stared at it nonetheless, and Luke saw his fingers twitch in anticipation. Left to his thoughts for the moment, Luke decided to tackle what seemed to him a very important question: did he want to be a wizard?

He could not deny the romance of the idea. Having accepted the reality of magic, he felt drawn to it by an instinct deeper than reason: the allure of the unknown, the relentless _come and see_ that urges explorers to climb the next ridge, and the next, and the next. What would it feel like to hold a wand in his hand, to know the words that would command some nameless force to perform impossible tasks? How would the world look from high above, perched upon a broom? What secrets of the world would suddenly be opened to him?

Yes, Luke could understand the desperation stamped on Jackson's face. But it was obvious that witches and wizards lived a strange and secretive life, and Luke could not imagine removing himself so completely from reality as he had always known it. If the option were given to him, could he choose that new world over the one into which he had been born? When faced with that vertiginous cliff, knowing the decision was final, would he jump?

The screen door banged and Luke jerked, his eyes refocusing as he returned from his place of deep thought. Jackson was already running into the kitchen, and Luke saw him leap into his father's arms.

"You're early!" Jackson shouted.

"Uncle Heath sent me a message," Mr Parker said, carrying Jackson back into the den; Mrs Parker followed with the baby. "So I knocked off early. Told 'em it was a family emergency." He grinned. "Heya, Heath!"

"Hi, Lionel." The two men shook hands. There was an old familiarity between them that made Luke smile. "We're glad you're here. I don't think Jack could have waited much longer."

"Can I do it now? Can I take the test?" Jackson was almost trembling with excitement.

Mr Parker loosened his tie and scooped Delia into a hug; the baby laughed and wrapped pudgy arms around his neck. "Yes," he said. "If everything's ready, Heath, for God's sake let's get our answer."

Lunsford lifted the briefcase. The girls stood close to their mother; Delia, sensing the sudden tension, looked curiously from one face to the next but was quiet. Luke edged toward the ruins of the cushion fort for a better view.

"Jackson Vance Parker," intoned Lunsford. "Are you prepared to complete your application to the Emerald Hill American Academy of Magic?"

In the expectant hush, Jackson seemed to have shrunk, but his eyes were very large and luminous. "Yes," he said, but with less conviction than Luke had expected.

Lunsford opened the briefcase with its contents facing Jackson. "Then take in your hand this stone and command it: _Petram respondeo dicendum_."

Jackson closed his eyes and whispered the words to himself quickly—so that he wouldn't flub them while holding the dowsing stone—and then plucked one of the stones from its velvet cushion. His fingers curled around it. Holding it up, he said, with great care: " _Petram respondeo dicendum_."

They did not have to wait long for the answer. Almost before the words left Jackson's lips, there was a loud _bang!_ and a cloud of acrid purple smoke burst outward from the stone and curled up toward the ceiling, where it hung, thick and pungent. Everyone in the room coughed and sputtered; Luke couldn't even see the Parkers for several moments. But he could hear Jackson laughing, and Mr Parker shouting. Luke waved his arms to clear the smoke away from his little corner, and almost knocked the briefcase from Doctor Lunsford's arms; the man had left the hubbub on the other side of the room and approached him, seemingly unaffected by the smoke.

He held up the briefcase, where the other stone lay. His long face, so shockingly marred, was grave. "Are you ready?" he asked quietly

The girls were gasping and clapping. Jackson was yelling, "I get to _go!_ I get to _go!_ " again and again, barely visible through the haze. No one was watching. Yes, thought Luke, this was ideal. He nodded.

"Do you remember the words?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then take in your hand this stone, Lucas Alan Baxter, and command it."

The rock was cool in his hand, stubbled like fine sandpaper. _It might do nothing_ , he thought. _And even if it does, I don't have to go. It's my choice. Just get it over with._ Satisfied—and pleased at the prospect of being able to control at least part of his future—he held the stone close to his mouth and recited the exotic syllables. " _Petram respondeo dicendum_."

There was a quiet, grainy muttering; Luke felt the stone shift in his palm. Holding his hand flat, he watched as it splintered into several smaller pieces, each one of which turned a different shade of blue or green.

"Congratulations, Lucas," said Lunsford. "You've been accepted."

"What? You did it already?" The smoke had cleared somewhat, and Jackson was staring over at them. He crossed the room, and Luke, not knowing what to say, held out his hand, showing Jackson the colorful fragments. "It answered you," Jackson said simply.

"Yeah," croaked Luke. His throat was dry again. "I guess so."

"You're going with me!" Jackson's voice cracked with shrill emotion. "You're magic! So am I! We'll go together! You and me!"

He grabbed both of Luke's arms and pulled him around, dancing with him around the room. Luke closed his fingers around the pieces of the stone to prevent them from being scattered. Lunsford, the Parkers, Margaret and Natalie and Delia: their faces merged into a colorful blur as he spun.

"Emerald Hill!" said Jackson, galloping to a breathless halt. He held up his own stone (which still fizzled slightly) in one hand and raised Luke's arm with the other. "You and me, Luke—we're going to Emerald Hill!"


	5. Chapter 5

Dinner was shockingly normal. Jackson, now that the ultimate question of his young life had been decided, ate and drank and chatted about mundane things. Luke would have been happy enough to do the same—at the very least, out of deference to Mrs Parker and the girls—but he could not think of a single thing to say. He pushed the food around on his place and even woodenly chewed a bite or two, but could manage nothing more. No one commented; he could only assume that they sympathized.

The pieces of the dowsing stone lay on the table beside his plate. Doctor Lunsford had warned the boys that he would have to take the stones back to the school, where the reactions would be analyzed, but Jackson had pleaded to keep his at least through dinner and his uncle had agreed. Luke could hardly take his eyes from those grainy blue and green fragments. He remembered the white stone, had actually watched it fracture, but still found the reality of it difficult to digest. Several times throughout dinner he thought the words, _I am a wizard_ , or, _There is magic in my blood, like my grandmother before me_ , because that sounded more like something a wizard might say. But along with these thoughts came the question, _Will I go?_ And for that he had no answer yet.

When dinner was over, Luke was jarred from his internal turmoil when Doctor Lunsford murmured something about "talk to the boys." Jackson snatched up his stone and bounced back to the den, and Luke gathered his pieces of his and followed more slowly. They had tidied the room in the aftermath of the purple smoke, and the cushions were back on the furniture; Jackson and his father sat on the couch, and Lunsford took the armchair near the fireplace. Cradling the pieces of his dowsing stone, Luke lowered himself onto an ottoman.

"When do we leave?" asked Jackson.

"Slow down, there," said Mr Parker with a laugh. "Freshmen take the plane from New York on August twenty-fifth."

" _Uhhhhh_ ," moaned Jackson, sagging bonelessly into the couch. "That's so far away!"

 _Twenty-six days from now_ , thought Luke. _I have twenty-six days to decide._

"You'll need that time to prepare," said Doctor Lunsford. "Especially you, Lucas. I know this is all very new to you."

Jackson snapped upright. "So when do we go to Dragontooth?"

"Well, since neither of you have been able to visit it yet, I think it would be best if you could spend at least a week there. With your parents' permission, of course." Lunsford looked at Mr Parker.

"Of course!" said Mr Parker. "That's a good idea. What say we shoot for the sixteenth, boys? That gives you nine days in New York. Plus the sixteenth is a Friday, so if we wait till I get home, I can spend the weekend there with you."

" _Yeah!_ " shouted Jackson.

Luke said nothing. August sixteenth was the day before his birthday. The knowledge that he was about to spend a birthday without his mother settled onto him like heavy gray snow. He realized that they were all looking at him, and so he grasped for one of the many questions in his mind, wishing he had time to write them all down. "What's in New York?" he asked.

"There's a place in New York City called Dragontooth Square," said Doctor Lunsford. "It's one of a few places in the country that is populated entirely with witches and wizards. There are a lot of supplies you'll need for the school year, and Dragontooth is where you can buy them."

"In the city? How can it be just witches and wizards if it's in the city?" Luke had never been to New York, but he couldn't imagine how magic paraphernalia could be kept hidden even in a large city.

"It's closed off from the rest of the city."

"But couldn't they find it anyway? Like, from planes and stuff? Is there just a blank spot on their maps?" It suddenly seemed very important to Luke to have a logical answer to this.

Instead of replying directly, Lunsford drew from a wide sleeve a rolled piece of paper, and leaned out to hand it to Luke. "Open it," he said, "and find the town of Red River."

Luke ran a thumb over the paper—it was thick and yellowed, with a faint marbling to the texture and slight fuzzing at the edges. It immediately struck him as fantastic, like a prop in a movie with a Medieval setting: a scroll the crier would unfurl to announce its contents in the square. And so, when he unrolled it, Luke felt a muted blow of anticlimax to see that it was a perfectly ordinary printed map of Wyoming.

"Is Emerald Hill in Red River?" he asked, poring over the tiny printed names.

"The school is a few miles from the city," said Lunsford.

"I wanna help!" Jackson launched himself from the couch and skidded on his knees to fetch up against Luke's ottoman, and together they examined the map.

"Up in the Grand Tetons," said Mr Parker. "Northwest."

Their foreheads almost touching, Luke and Jackson traced their fingers over that corner of the Rocky Mountains, but after a few minutes had to give up. "It's not on the map," Luke said.

Mr Parker tipped a finger at him. "Exactly."

"But it's a real place, right?"

"As real as New York and Vicksburg. But it's hidden. Kept secret by some powerful spells. The same is true for Dragontooth Square in New York."

"What kind of spells?"

Doctor Lunsford spoke up. "With Red River and Emerald Hill, it's mostly hikers who get anywhere near, and the first line of defense isn't a spell at all. It's just a barbed-wire fence with _Private Property_ , _No Trespassing_ signs on it. The fence is just ordinary enough that they won't assume anything interesting is inside, and you might be surprised at how many people are courteous enough to just leave it at that. There are some who go on, though, and for them there are spells on the geography that funnel the hikers away from, or at least around, our places. Finally, for the particularly persistent, there are aversion spells: they'll suddenly remember something important they have to do immediately, or have a sudden bout of nausea or a splitting headache that makes them want to go home right away, or they'll simply feel bored and lose all interest in going any farther. So far those things have been enough. If anyone did manage to resist the aversion spells, there are dedicated Security Officers in the city who would respond."

All of that made perfect sense to Luke, and he had to admit that he felt relieved at the nonviolence of these measures. "What about, uh, Dragontooth?"

"That's trickier. In the city, we have to utilize _inbetweenspace_. A complex and careful network of spells, but very effective. I'll show you when we get there."

"You're gonna take us, Uncle Heath?" said Jackson, who was still on the floor beside the ottoman.

"You don't think I'd miss out on your first time in Dragontooth, do you?" Lunsford smiled. "I'll help you pick out your school supplies. If you could come, Lionel, so much the better."

"Plan on it," said Mr Parker. "Whaddaya say, Jack?"

Jackson's reply was to jump to his feet and perform a little jig in the middle of the room. Mr Parker laughed, but Doctor Lunsford was watching Luke. "Is everything okay, Lucas?" he asked.

"Oh," said Luke, "well, I…I guess it's just that I haven't really decided if I want to go or not."

Jackson froze, gaping at him. "What? You don't wanna go?"

"I don't _know_ ," said Luke, feeling defensive. "I just…I don't know."

There was a moment of silence. Both Jackson and his father looked torn between confusion and concern, but Lunsford merely looked thoughtful. "Would you like to go for a walk with me?" he asked. "A little fresh air might do you good."

Getting away from the hurt expression on Jackson's face sounded fine to Luke. He nodded. Without another word Lunsford stood, and the two of them walked through the kitchen and out the screen door onto the porch.

It was midsummer and the evenings were long; the light of sunset still touched the tops of the trees and suffused the air with a heavy golden glow. Lunsford breathed deeply and descended the porch stairs, striding across the gravel of the driveway. He did not make for the field with the intricate network of paths Jackson had forged, instead heading almost dead east, following his long shadow as it flickered in and out of sight through the western trees.

Luke jogged to catch up. For a long time neither of them said anything, walking through the open woods on the far side of the driveway. Drowsy birdsong floated through the evening air and their feet were almost silent on the deep carpet of many generations of pine needles and rotted leaves. After a long and tense afternoon, Luke found the exertion and silence refreshing, and gradually his chest began to feel less tight and his head somewhat clearer.

The shadows deepened around them as the undergrowth grew thicker. At length Lunsford wandered to a stop in a small clearing, looking up. Following his gaze, Luke saw one of the night's first stars faintly visible in the darkening sky. For reasons he did not understand, the sight brought tears to his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Lunsford said at last, still watching the star. "I suppose there wasn't really a graceful way for you to find out about all of this…but I still feel like we could have done better."

He paused. Luke said nothing.

"A lot of things have happened to you this summer, and it may seem that you've lost all control over your fate. You may feel as though we're dragging you into this. I want to assure you that that's not the case. At all. Of course you have the right to decide whether you want any part of this new society. You should know that you wouldn't be the first to make that choice. But if I may…and I'm obviously biased, so feel free to take my words with a grain of salt, but…consider this."

He turned to Luke, holding out a hand, and Luke recognized the wand Lunsford had used to levitate Jackson. Luke recoiled slightly.

"It's okay," Lunsford reassured him. "There's a point to this."

Wary, feeling as though some rule were being broken, Luke took the wand. It felt like an ordinary stick, albeit finely shaped and polished, and perhaps a little lighter than he would have expected. He looked up at Lunsford, whose face was now nothing more than a pale oblong shape in the gloaming.

"The dowsing stone answered you when you commanded it," Lunsford said. "That's enough proof for me, or anyone else in our society. But it might not be enough for you. There is magic in you, Lucas, and you need to _know_ that, to your very bones, before you make your final decision.

"So lift the wand and say the word _Lumos_."

Luke felt a little silly, like an actor not fully committed to his role, as he raised Lunsford's wand…but his heart beat a little faster, too. " _Lumos_ ," he said.

And he felt it. Something moved in him: a flow of clear water, a distant rushing wind, the tentative flexing of invisible tendons that were still weak and tight but had the potential for much, much more. At once the wand began to glow. The light was concentrated at its tip, a point of soft yellow-white that lit up Lunsford's face and much of the surrounding clearing.

Lunsford's mouth twisted into its lopsided smile. "We can give you a wand of your own, and the knowledge to wield it. You can learn to manage your magic in a safe, supportive place. You are under no obligation to have anything to do with wizarding society once your years at Emerald Hill are done. But you'll have your wand forever, and you'll never have to think back on this day, when you called and the magic came, and wonder _what if_."

They stood in a pool of light in the dark woods. Lunsford was patient, making no demands, and Luke wanted very much to trust him. He felt weary with the need to have someone to trust. He held out the wand, and Lunsford accepted it; it remained lit.

"I'll go to New York," said Luke.

"I'm glad," said Lunsford. "Are you ready to go back to the house?"

"Okay."

The wand lit their way through the twilight.

Later, after Lunsford had departed through the fireplace in another wash of green flames, after a cool shower and clean pajamas, Luke climbed into his trundle bed just as Jackson was tacking his poster of Henry Orticelle back onto the wall. He looked at Luke almost shyly.

"Do you think you'll go?" he asked.

"I dunno. I guess I want to see that Dragontooth place first." He smiled. "You're pretty excited, huh?"

"Well, yeah! It's what I've wanted my whole life!"

"I guess that's the difference, then. I haven't wanted this my whole life…I haven't even known about it for a whole day yet."

"Oh." Jackson sat with his legs dangling off the edge of his bed. "I guess that's true. But man, Luke, our grandmas were at school together! You've _gotta_ go! It's like…like destiny!"

Luke had to grin. "Well, maybe I will."

Jackson leaned over to flip the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. "And we can both be Sphinxes, just like Dad and Uncle Heath, and have classes together, and be on the Quidditch team…"

Luke tuned out, giving up on the terminology he didn't understand, letting Jackson's happy voice wash over him. _Dear Mark_ , he thought, drafting the letter in his head, _today I found out I'm magic. I might be going to a school for wizards. I know it's weird. I hope you're not mad. I guess there's a whole world full of people like me that we didn't know existed because they use spells to stay hidden. Do you think I should go?_

He tried to imagine what Mark's answer might be, but the only thing that came to mind was an image of his brother's face looking confused and vaguely disgusted.

Luke used the intervening weeks to gather information. In an effort to encourage but not overwhelm Luke, Mr Parker had promised to answer any questions he might have, but not to give more information than was strictly relevant. Taking over one of Jackson's half-used spiral notebooks, Luke began to keep careful track of these questions and answers, putting stars by the ones he found most interesting, such as:

 _–How many students are at Emerald Hill?_ _–10,132 this year (counting me) (if I go)_

 _–How many years does school last? –7 (2 years as a freshman, 2 years as a_ _soffmore (?)_ _sophomore, 2 years as a junior, 1 year as a senior)_

 _–Jack said something about sphinxes –No real sphinxes at school (but they are real !) Dormitories are named after different magical animals. Grandma Helena was in the sphinx house just like Mr. Parker and Dr. Lunsford._

 _–What kind of classes are there? –Chemistry, Botany (that's plants), History, Flying, Trans-(something), Charms, Strategy and_ _Dooling_ _Dueling, Life Studies (this one teaches kids how to live in the real world because not many people can live in the places that are magic only)_

Seven years. That didn't seem so bad, Luke thought. It certainly sounded more interesting than regular school. And Jackson would be there, so at least he wouldn't be stranded in a strange place, as he would be if he decided to attend school in Vicksburg.

He realized he was trying to convince himself.

It was the moment in the woods that kept coming back to him: the feeling of something _moving_ in him. It had not felt alien, not like an intruder or a parasite. It had felt like part of him. And he wanted to feel it again. He wanted to see how far that latent potentiality could stretch.

He told no one this. He did not fully understand the defiance that he felt, and which conflicted with the growing knowledge that he had already decided to attend Emerald Hill. Doodling dragons in the margin of his list of questions and answers, he remembered Doctor Lunsford's words: _it may seem that you've lost all control over your fate_. That was it. His world had been shaken, inside and out, and the idea of being shoved into yet another life-altering event made him balk. _I'll go_ , he thought, and articulating the decision sent a thrill of fear and excitement through him. _I'll go, but it will be because_ _I_ _want to._

August sixteenth approached relentlessly. Jackson packed, emptied, and repacked a suitcase several times a day, channeling his nervous energy into an attempt at organization. Luke had a much simpler task; he took his shirts and socks out of the top dresser drawer and put them back into the suitcase that his brother had packed for him. Along with a few sets of clothing, Mark had thoughtfully included the Packers poster, a little black rock that fit in the cup of Luke's palm, four tiny dinosaur figurines he had had for years, a photo album of pressed flowers, a small set of charcoal drawing pencils he had never used, but which had been a gift from his mother, and a frame holding two photographs of Luke and his mother: one on the dock of their pond in North Carolina with Luke at age four proudly holding up the little yellow perch he had hooked and caught all by himself, and the other on a rented boat on Lake Superior with both of them holding up a thirty‑eight inch northern pike. This latter had been taken only the previous spring, and Luke looked at it for a moment before tucking the frame carefully between his folded shirts where it would not be damaged.

"You're packing," Jackson said, looking over from the other side of the room, where he sat in a pile of clothes, books, and miscellanea. "Does that mean you're gonna go? To Emerald Hill?"

"I haven't decided," Luke told him. "This is just in case."

But when he took his suitcase downstairs on the afternoon of the sixteenth, it was with a very different feeling than on the morning he'd left his home in North Carolina. Then he had been filled with helpless despair. Now, approaching the fireplace in the Parkers' den, he felt curious, and excited, and in control. He felt like a traveler starting off on a great adventure.

Jackson hugged his older sisters, and blew a raspberry on little Delia's tummy to make her laugh. Then he faced his mother, who wore a complicated expression. She took Jackson's face in her hands and looked at it for a long moment, then kissed both of his cheeks.

"Be good," she told him. "And write me letters."

"Ma," said Jackson, wiping his face. "I'll be back for Christmas."

Mr Parker drew his wand grandly, and with a whispered word and a gesture, conjured a roaring blaze in the fireplace. "Nat," he said, "it's your turn."

Flushing with pride and pleasure, Natalie went to the hearth and expertly loosened a false brick in its façade, retrieving from the hole a leather pouch. She tugged at its drawstring and carefully scooped out a small handful of olive green powder. "This is Floo powder," she said, showing it to Luke, who was startled by the attention. Natalie moved carefully in front of the fire, tossing the powder into the flames.

The fire billowed up in shades of brilliant green, reflecting strangely in the Parkers' eyes as Luke watched them. "You first, Jack," said Mr Parker. "Remember to speak clearly."

Hauling his large suitcase, Jackson stepped up to the fire, puffed out his chest, and said, "Dragontooth Square!"

Luke squinted at the fire. It was still green in color, but now it was as though the back of the fireplace were a grubby window; he could see sunlight, and movement, filtered through sooty green light. Without any hesitation, Jackson picked up his suitcase in both arms and hopped over the hearth, directly into the flames…and disappeared.

"Now you, Luke," said Mr Parker.

Luke clenched his teeth, but tried to appear unconcerned as he approached the fireplace. Natalie carefully added another dose of Floo powder to the fire, which leapt up green, bright and unsettling. "Dragontooth Square," said Luke, and from this closer vantage point he saw a parting of shadows that looked like a door opening. Beyond, he thought he saw the shapes of people.

Remembering the stone that answered his call and the wand that obeyed his command, Luke forced his feet forward across the bricks. With eyes wide open, he stepped into the uncanny green fire, into a breath of warm wind. His feet skidded momentarily as the ground beneath them shifted and slid, and then found firm stone again, and he emerged into bright sunlight, having traveled hundreds of miles in a single step.

 _Author's Note_

 _I make note of every update in my Author Profile. If I have anything to say about a particular chapter, or if updates will be delayed for any reason, I'll say so there. Check it out every so often._


	6. Chapter 6

The shadows of teeth surrounded him, and beneath his feet a large tongue lolled, its rough texture worn smooth by the passage of countless travelers. As though vomited forth, Luke stepped out of the gaping stone mouth of a huge lion, in the throat of which was a large fireplace. Luke turned to admire the effect, but someone took his arm firmly and drew him away. "Got to make room for more arrivals," said a woman with a cheerful round face. "First Floo trip?"

Luke nodded.

"Then go ahead and look, dear. Welcome to Dragontooth Square."

The flames in the lion's mouth roared higher with a rush of heat and green light, and Mr Parker stepped out with casual ease. At the same moment Jackson appeared out of the crowd and seized Luke's arm, trying to look everywhere at once as he dragged Luke this way and that. "Wow! Luke! Look! And that— Wow! Dad! Did you see—?"

Mr Parker laughed, putting big hands on his son's shoulders to quiet him. "Don't rip Luke's shirt, bud."

Released, Luke looked again at the fireplace. From farther back, he saw that the lion from whose mouth he had emerged wasn't the only entrance; he and Jackson made a slow circuit and counted eight creatures with roaring fireplaces in their throats, arranged in an outward-facing circle. From each—two lions, two wolves, two horses, and two eagles—rose a streaming plume of stone fur or feathers, curving to the center of the octagon where a large golden torch burned continuously above all with the brilliant green Flooflames.

"If you like that, you'll love Emerald Hill," said Mr Parker from behind him. "It's famous for its stonework."

Luke stepped back again and looked around. The crowd impeded his view, but the glimpses he caught through the streams of people were tantalizing—the word _cauldron_ in a shop window, a teenager carrying a large stack of old and expensivelooking books, a mother flicking her wand to clean a splotch of ice cream from her toddler's shirt, several teenage boys gazing adoringly at a broom in a shop window, a rat perched contentedly on a man's shoulder, a woman stuffing several brightlycolored newts into a velvet bag. Luke's heart was pounding. A few owls swooped back and forth above the crowded street, the words on store signs glittered and danced without electricity, a pair of girls walked by chatting idly about love potions, and people were constantly arriving and departing through the fireplaces.

Luke felt tingly all over, and suspected that he was well and truly awestruck for the first time in his life.

"Where are we going first?" asked Jackson, skipping a quick circle around his father. "A broom shop? Oh _please_ let's go look at the brooms!"

"Hold your horses," said Mr Parker. "We have to meet Uncle Heath first."

The Portal with its constantly-stoked fireplaces was the exact center of the Dragontooth Square. This ten-by-twelve-block section of the city was a massive unified confusion of people and voices—mothers calling to children, street vendors dickering prices, students joking. Luke had never been in a large city before, much less anything on scale with New York, and the spillover of bustle and culture from the surrounding Muggle city was intimidating. He was inundated with the new and the strange, saturated with it, and it didn't really surprise him to see several children about his age either crying or on the verge of tears.

In a small courtyard that filled an odd angle between buildings, Luke saw Doctor Lunsford on a bench, reading. Most of the people in Dragontooth Square were dressed normally by Luke's standards, but Lunsford still wore his Emerald Hill professor's robes, making him appear both formal and a little somber on such a bright summer afternoon…until Jackson ruined the effect by running over and dragging Lunsford to his feet, chattering about a dozen fascinating things he had seen so far.

Mr Parker clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Jack's itching for the fun stuff. Where to first?"

Lunsford tucked the book away into one of his sleeves. "Li, you know we can't do anything until we get the boys registered. Our first stop is the bank."

Jackson and his father gave identical good-natured groans, pretending to drag their feet as Lunsford shooed them out of the courtyard.

As they walked, Luke saw many passersby notice Lunsford, though because of the scar or his obvious affiliation with the school, he couldn't tell. Watching them whisper, Luke felt strangely defensive, and decided to distract Lunsford. "Doctor Lunsford?" he asked as they walked. "How did you say this place is kept hidden?"

"Ah," said Lunsford, "inbetweenspace. A very old technique, and very difficult, finally perfected here. I won't bore you with the history, but back when the various counties decided to consolidate and become New York City as we know it, the wizarding government decided that it would be best to have a permanent foothold here. So they staked out as large a section as they dared, and…" In the shade of an awning in front of what appeared to be a perfectly ordinary deli, Lunsford paused and held his hands together, palms-up, miming a book. "They pinched the edges of the Muggle city together around the area they'd claimed," he said. "Like this—watch my thumbs." He folded his palms together, closing the invisible book. "You can't see Dragontooth Square from the air. The Muggle maps are right…but so are ours."

"But how is that possible?" asked Luke as they continued on our way.

Mr Parker laughed. "Magic, Luke, haven't you been paying attention?"

"Like I said, it's very complex," said Lunsford. "The spells are monitored daily to ensure they don't deteriorate."

"What would happen?" asked Jackson. "Would the edges pop open again like my cut last year when the stitches fell out?"

"Let's hope not." Lunsford smiled. "Jack, do you remember the name of the bank?"

"Yeah! Heartstone!"

"And do you know why it's called that?"

"Nope." Jackson snatched at a downy feather that had fallen from an owl passing overhead. "There's a _why_?"

"There's always a _why_." Lunsford pointed.

Luke leaned to see through the shifting crowd. It took him several moments to realize what he was seeing. What first appeared to be a strangely convex wall suddenly resolved into a tail—an enormous tail carved from white stone. He and Jackson hurried to stand beside it, marveling at the individual scales larger than their hands.

"What is it?" asked Jackson.

"Follow it and see," said Mr Parker.

The tail followed the border of Dragontooth Square; behind it was a blank gray wall, several stories tall, that was further blocked from view as the tail grew larger. Where it met one corner of the Square, the tail was joined to a massive haunch culminating in a clawed foot twelve feet long that joined seamlessly with the stones of the street. The great rounded stomach eventually met a foreleg curled protectively around a giant gleaming ball of what looked like solid gold (though Luke didn't quite believe it was), and the neck turned another corner, turning at the end so that the massive stone head was facing into the Square.

"A dragon," Luke whispered.

"Oh wow," said Jackson. "That's the _bank?_ "

"Not so boring now, huh?" Mr Parker elbowed Jackson gently. "Come on, let's go in."

In a reversal of their arrival through the Portal, they passed between the dragon's teeth and into the corridor of the throat, which curved sharply to the left to follow the path of the neck. As the light of the street faded behind them, they saw display cases containing expensivelooking vases, coin collections, and artifacts, lit by gentle recessed lighting.

"Now," said Lunsford, "just to prepare you, Heartstone is run by dwarves."

"Dwarves?" said Luke. "You mean, like…" He trailed off, unsure.

"Not like the genetic condition," said Lunsford gently.  
"But not like out of _Snow White_ , either," said Mr Parker. "These are real dwarves. Witches and wizards own the contents of their vaults, but the bank itself belongs to the dwarves. They're paid handsomely, of course, but you won't find a better guardian for treasured things. Not even a dragon could wrest a jewel from the fist of a dwarf."

Luke had to smile at that, thinking of Smaug, but before he could turn his thought into a comment, the cavern expanded ahead of them to reveal long counters on the right and left, partitioned into cubbies. Beneath hanging lights with green shades, dwarves tended to the bank's clients.

They were no taller than Luke but enormously stout, at least as wide as they were tall, dressed in rich leathers and velvets with gleaming buttons, their long beards bound with rings of precious metals. Following Lunsford, the group approached an empty counter where a dwarf sat with his hands resting lightly on the polished wood. Luke stared at those hands with fascination—they were twice as wide as his own, with short fingers so thick that the dwarf could not have crossed them if he had tried. He regarded Lunsford with beady, glittering eyes from beneath eyebrows that stood out an inch from his face. But most remarkable was the jewel—milky blue-white, polished and smooth—emerging from the deeply wrinkled skin of his forehead. "Professor," he said in a deep gravelly voice. "Welcome to Heartstone. I trust you have had an enjoyable summer."

"I have, Chalcedony, thank you," said Lunsford with a nod. "And is all well for you here?"

"As well as may be. Will you be making a withdrawal? You have compounded point-three-percent interest since your last visit."

"Thank you, but no. I have brought two children for registration."

"Very good." The dwarf cleared his throat and peered down at the boys.

Mr Parker ushered Jackson forward. "This is my son, Jackson Vance Parker. He's been accepted into Emerald Hill. I'd like to add him onto my account."

Chalcedony nodded. "Very good. And the other?"

"For the other," said Lunsford, "I must inquire about the account of Mrs Helena Wright."

"Deceased."

"Indeed. This is her grandson, Lucas Alan Baxter. By right of the dowsing stone, he'll now have access to his family vault."

Chalcedony leaned closer to study Luke for a moment, and Luke could almost sense him filing away this new information; he had the brief mental image of a thousand rows of tall filing cabinets crammed with papers, the dwarf's consciousness flitting about at lightspeed to access whichever name was given him. "Condolences for your loss."

"Thank you," said Luke, trying to mirror Lunsford's poise.

Chalcedony looked back at Lunsford. "We have no other relative of Helena Wright on file."

"Your records match our own. Lucas is the sole magical heir of the family."

"Very well." Without waiting for further encouragement, the dwarf scribbled something on a complicatedlooking form with a black fountain pen, writing very quickly despite the incredible size of his fingers. "Parker, Jackson Vance," he said. "Present your hand."

Jackson glanced up at his father, who nodded encouragement, before holding out his hand to the wizened creature. Chalcedony took out a pad of red ink and then, shockingly, pricked one of his own fingers with the sharp nib of the pen, letting a few drops of blood fall onto the pad before pressing a large stamp to it. He took Jackson's hand in one of his own, turning it palm-down. Before Jackson could do more than gasp, the stamp flashed, hitting his hand with a meaty _thunk_.

Drawing his hand back, Jackson and Luke stared as the ink, bright and blood-red in an intricate circular design, sank into his skin without a trace. Chalcedony used the stamp a second time, at the bottom of Jackson's form.

"It didn't really hurt," Jackson told Luke. "I was just surprised."

"Baxter, Lucas Alan," said Chalcedony, already filling out a second form. "Present your hand."

The dwarf's skin was hard and pebbly, but his grip was surprisingly gentle. He twiddled a few knobs on the side of the stamp's fitting, and Luke saw the circular design shift with a series of tiny _clink_ s. He realized suddenly that the stamp was not rubber, but metal, its lines thin and sharp. Chalcedony added several more drops of blood to the inkpad, and Luke drew a breath; but though the stamp came down with force, he felt only brief pressure and a flash of dull pain.

Chalcedony added a stamp to Luke's form and replaced it in a little drawer, then retrieving what looked to Luke like a miniature phonograph, beautifully detailed with a gleaming horn. "Voice record," said the dwarf. "Fifteen seconds. Whatever you like."

"Here," said Lunsford, producing the book from his sleeve and handing it to Luke.

"Uh, okay." Luke opened the book to a random page and cleared his throat, leaning closer to the phonograph as Chalcedony pushed a button on the side of the casing. " _At two o'clock in the morning_ ," he read carefully," _if you open your window and listen, you will hear the feet of the wind that is going to call the sun._ _And the trees in the shadow rustle and the trees in the moonlight glisten, and though it is deep, dark night, you feel that the night is done_."

"As are you," said Chalcedony, repositioning the phonograph in front of Jackson. "Your turn. Fifteen seconds."

Jackson cleared his throat importantly, reading from the same page as Luke: " _So do the cows in the field. They graze for an hour and lie down, dozing and chewing the cud; or a bird in the ivy wakes, chirrups one note and is still, and the restless wind strays on, fidgeting far down the road, till, softly, the darkness breaks_."

"Done."

Jackson returned the book to Lunsford. "You like poems, Uncle Heath?"

"Some," Lunsford replied.

Chalcedony put away the phonograph and replaced his fountain pen in a little cup. "Registration complete. Jackson Vance Parker is henceforth granted full access to vault eight-one-two. Lucas Alan Baxter is henceforth the sole proprietor of vault six-one-seven. Any other business?"

"If you please, what was the account balance left by Mrs Wright?"

"Apologies, but you're not authorized to access that information, Professor."

Lunsford inclined his head graciously and looked at Luke.

"Oh!" said Luke. "Please, sir, what is my account balance?"

"Six hundred nineteen _smialiae_."

Luke blinked. "What?"

"Dwarfish currency," Lunsford told him. "The units in which the bank stores our funds."

"Well, how much is that in dollars?"

"At the current conversion rate, two thousand one hundred twenty-three dollars," said Chalcedony at once. "And seventeen cents."

"That's all?" said Mr Parker.

"Mrs Wright saw fit to withdraw the majority of her funds on the occasion of her marriage."

"Well, that's a problem."

"Why?" asked Luke.

"Tuition," said Lunsford, drumming his fingers thoughtfully for a moment. "Thank you very much, Chalcedony, that will be all."

"Have a pleasant evening, Professor, sirs."

They left the counter and continued down the path of the dragon's throat. "You knew him?" Luke asked Lunsford.

"Hm? Oh, Chalcedony. No, I don't believe I've ever met him. Their true names are very long and almost unpronounceable. They quickly grew fed up with our attempts and have graciously allowed us to address them by more recognizable means."

"He always knows which stones are which," said Lionel, with a hint of reproach. "I can never tell."

They were approaching the left-hand turn that would lead to the dragon's abdominal cavity, where two dwarf guards were positioned. One, whose beard was long and white, had an array of many small red gems embedded in his forehead; the other, with a well-trimmed brown beard, had three yellow gems in the shape of a bloom and two leaves.

Lunsford gave a brief bow. "Garnet," he said to one, and "Tourmaline," to the other. "We request access to the vaults."

They returned his bow, and the Lunsford extended his hand, which Tourmaline examined. Mr Parker did likewise with Garnet, and then Tourmaline took Luke's hand, passing a stout thumb over the skin; where his thumb passed, the red ink of the stamp was briefly visible again before fading.

The dwarves nodded assent, and Tourmaline gave Luke a solemn wink in passing.

"What is that stamp, anyway?" asked Jackson as they turned the corner.

Lunsford glanced at the back of his own hand. "Congratulations, boys, you're marked for life. That's a very important registration you both just did—you're now in the records of the American Wizarding Society. You'll have to update that voicerecognition recording once yours change. The stamp allows you to access to the bank, of course, and can also allow automatic deductions for purchases."

"So the dwarves can go into the vaults?" Luke asked.

"Oh, no, they wouldn't breach privacy like that. And anyway, the vaults themselves are not for money—they're for treasures. Before we consider your tuition an actual problem, Lucas, we'll have to see what your grandmother left here besides money."

The dragon's chest and abdominal cavity were a vast cavern that extended into the distance, lined with vaults all up and down either side, with staircases leading to the upper floors. It was lit by the ubiquitous torches and an enormous glowing fountain in the center of the floor that filled the place with the lovely music of water. The bannisters were made of dark shining wood and the stairs were carpeted in deep winecolored velvet, and with large Renaissance oil paintings hanging here and there, the whole place had the feel of the mansion of an eccentric.

"It's bigger than it looked," Luke said, quietly so as not to disturb the library air of the place.

Lunsford smiled. "Yes, it is. Li, why don't you take Parker to your vault? I'll go with Luke. We'll save time that way."

"Sounds good," said Mr Parker. "Come on, kiddo." He and Jackson headed up a staircase to the right, while Luke and Lunsford went left.

Lunsford led the way, his shoes ringing on the flawless hardwood floor. There were a few dozen people already in the bank, and they passed several individuals and a family group as they climbed toward the sixth level. Luke was fascinated to see that each vault had a unique door; some were carved with vines and flowers, some with roaring dragons or strange beasts unidentifiable to Luke, some with family portraits or crests or illustrations of certain spells. When they reached vault six-seventeen Luke stopped short, delighted. The design was breathtaking—an intricate sunburst, layered and whorled with several different types of wood, their varying colors and textures creating depth and shadow.

"It's so beautiful," said Luke, reaching out to touch the wood, but before his fingers reached it the door swung open, smooth and silent on hidden hinges.

His grandmother's vault was a simple room, deeper than it was wide, with shelves along the back wall. Moving slowly, Luke saw several crates and more cardboard boxes, a large wardrobe, six different lamps, a collection of half-melted candles, a two-foot-long whale carved out of dark wood, several porcelain dolls, an empty birdcage nearly as tall as him, and a large carpetbag filled entirely with scraps of fabric.

"Is any of this worth anything?" he asked Lunsford, who waited politely just outside the door.

Lunsford ducked his head slightly to enter and poked carefully among the shelves, peeking inside the wardrobe and opening a box or two. "Nothing yet," he said. "Want to help me with these crates?"

Together they pried the lids from the three crates, but found nothing more interesting than random keepsakes: a bundle of dried flowers, two diaries filled with spidery cursive, a battered instrument case with a large violin ("That's a viola, actually," Lunsford said), a china tea set, and the like.

Lunsford leaned back, dusting his hands. "Well, I'm sure these things held great value for your grandmother, but—" He stopped then, pushing aside a sheaf of straw packing to reveal a black leather case.

"Another instrument?" asked Luke.

"I don't think so," said Lunsford. "Listen."

They were quiet. There were no other clients of the bank near them at the moment, and in the stillness Luke gradually became aware of a very quiet, regular sound. Lunsford flipped open the clasps of the case and opened it, revealing a largish clock, shining black enamel with gold chasing and a cream-colored face. But instead of twelve numbers, its face had two concentric circles of symbols Luke didn't recognize, and five hands, each of a different metal. Though the clock was laying on its back, its two pendulums ticked gently at slightly different speeds, unperturbed. "Well, then," Lunsford breathed, reaching out and then drawing his hand back as though he didn't quite dare touch the thing. "This…I think this is an Aether Clock."

Luke came closer, resting his hands on the edge of the crate. "What's that?"

"Something quite rare. I've never actually seen one, so I can't be sure."

"Would that pay for my tuition?"

"Well, yes and no. If it is what I think it is, it's worth your full tuition and then some. Not just this year—all seven years. However, if it is what I think it is, I could never allow you to sell it. This truly is a treasure, Lucas. In fact, all of this—" He gestured to the rest of the vault—"might have been camouflage for the clock."

They watched the clock in silence for a moment. Its purpose was opaque to Luke, but Lunsford was obviously impressed, which was enough to convince Luke of its value. "So…what about school?" he asked.

Lunsford looked at him with a smile. "You want to go, then?"

Luke had forgotten about keeping his decision secret. "Well…yeah," he said.

"Then don't worry about your tuition. I'll pay it."

Luke was shocked, and suddenly felt that he was truly seeing Heath Lunsford for the first time. "I can't let you do that."

"Yes, you can." Lunsford closed the clock's case and stood, brushing off his robes. "Come on, let's go meet Jack and his dad."

"But it's a lot of money!" Luke protested. "I…I'll pay you back."

"That's not necessary." Lunsford faced Luke and put his hands on Luke's shoulders. "I want to do this for you. Please accept it."

"But you don't even really know me."

"Do I have to know you to give you a gift?"

"Then…then I'll give you the clock!"

"That's _especially_ not necessary. It's an heirloom, Lucas. I'll help you learn the working of it someday, but it belongs to you." Lunsford smiled again, but somehow it didn't seem quite as grotesque now. "I'll let you buy your own school supplies, though. How's that?"

Luke grinned.

They covered the clock's case with straw and sealed the crate over it. As they closed the door of the vault, Luke asked, "Where are we going next?"

"Well, since you've decided to become a wizard, I think it's time we got you a wand."


	7. Chapter 7

When Jackson asked if they had found anything in Luke's vault, Doctor Lunsford merely replied that Luke's tuition was taken care of. Jackson was delighted. Luke thought he saw Mr Parker give Lunsford a funny look, but he couldn't be sure.

"There's a store where you can buy magic wands?" Luke asked as they exited the mouth of the Heartstone Bank and emerged into the street. More time had passed than Luke had thought; the light was slanting toward sunset.

"Well, you can't just buy any old wand you want," said Mr Parker. "As the saying goes, _the wand chooses the wizard_. We say that now to mean things like _you can't escape your fate_ , but it's also true in the literal sense."

"Oh," said Luke. "I guess I thought a wand was just a thing."

"It's not just a piece of wood, if that's what you're saying," said Lunsford. "Just like certain types of wood are harder or more flexible, different woods have different qualities of magical conduction. Shape is also important. It all has to do with how a witch or wizard thinks, how they move, even which is their dominant hand. But most important of all is the wand's core. At the center of each is a hair or feather or such from a magical creature, each of which has different properties and gives a different character to the wand. A wand isn't alive, but it can be said to have a kind of personality. It's important to have a wand that is compatible with you."

"What's yours?"

"I know, I know!" cried Jackson. "It's holly wood, and has a sphinx claw! And Dad's is silver maple with a phoenix feather."

Mr Parker laughed. "Do you remember everything we've ever said about magic, Jack?"

"Yup!" Jack was nearly skipping, but as he glanced to either side to look at the shops, suddenly he stumbled and fell to his knees. Before anyone could react, though, he was on his feet again and leaping to press his nose against the large glass window of a shop whose name, carved with simple elegance into a wooden sign, was _Brooms by Ferriston_.

The only flying broom Luke had seen was the one ridden by Henry Orticelle in Jackson's Quidditch poster, and that had been partially obscured by its rider. _Ferriston_ 's brooms lay in full sight on padded stands, lovingly polished, their handles gleaming. Not at all what you would use to sweep a porch, these were streamlined with a slight scoop in the handle for sitting, their thick and shining bristles bound tightly with cords, brand names written in gold script on the handles.

"The _Nimbus_ ," Jackson breathed, pointing to the model hanging from the ceiling of the display.

"That's a good one?" Luke asked.

"It's the newest model, made to be really fast and really light, with a gyroscopic weight in the tail for extra-tight turns. Top-of-the-line stuff!"

Mr Parker laughed. "You've been filching my newspapers, haven't you?"

Jackson nodded, too distracted by the brooms to be guilty. "Dad, I _need_ one."

"Then start saving, bucko. Those things are crazy expensive."

"But how can I make the team without my own broom?"

"Get a part-time job in the menagerie," Mr Parker suggested genially. "They're always in need of motivated pooper-scoopers. Come on, boys, let's shake a leg. My stomach is reminding me that it's time for dinner."

"Have you ever ridden a broom?" Luke asked Jackson as Mr Parker peeled him away from the window.

"No," said Jackson, casting a final mournful glance over his shoulder. "But they teach you how, at school. Second Freshmen can try out for the Junior Varsity team. I really wanna be a Seeker! But a Chaser would be okay, too."

Only two streets east of the Portal, _Greta and Vera's Fine Wands and Accessories_ was bright and cheerful, decorated in a dozen shades of purple and gold. There were armchairs and sofas for waiting customers, of which there were several, because only one at a time could approach the counter, behind which sat a plump, dark-haired witch in a purple smock. Another witch, obviously an identical twin to the first but wearing a gold smock, moved among the long rows of shelves lined solidly with hundreds of small boxes.

"Welcome, Professor," called one of the witches. "Be with you in a moment."

"Coffee's on," said the other.

Lunsford and Mr Parker enjoyed cups of coffee while Luke and Jackson each took a gumball from a glass dish and competed to see who could blow the largest bubble. Luke ended up with gum in his hair, which they were busy clearing away when the witch at the counter called Lunsford to the front.

"Good evening, Greta," said Lunsford as they approached.

"Evenin', Doctor," said the purple-smocked witch, who sat perched on a padded stool, leaning on the counter. "Caught us just before closing. Not here for a replacement, are you?"

"Not at all. I have two new students who need their first wands."

"Ah, excellent." Greta smiled at Luke. "You first, then?"

"Okay." This seemed a much less intimidating place than the bank, and Luke didn't mind leading the way.

"Great. Here's how it goes. I'm going to take your hand—whichever you use to write with—and then I'm going to go into a sort of meditative state. Don't be alarmed. I'll say a few words, which I'll need you to repeat for me. That's all! Shouldn't take long. That's not so bad, eh?"

"No, ma'am." Encouraged by her cheer, Luke surrendered his left hand.

"Ah, a southpaw." Greta smiled, taking his hand in both of her own, which were very soft and smelled of powder, and turned it this way and that, moving his fingers and tracing the lines on his palm. "Okey-dokey, dear. Let me see your eyes. Ready, Harriet?"

"Ready," called the other witch.

Luke pushed back his hair and was startled when Greta's face suddenly grew very hard and stiff, like a wax mask, only with glittering eyes that now seemed as deep as wells, brimming with half‑guessed puzzles and secrets. " _Homunculus_ ," she said, her voice now lower-pitched than it had been a moment ago.

Startled, it took Luke a moment to remember that he was supposed to repeat the word. "Homunculus."

" _Effervescent_."

"Effervescent."

" _Propinquity_."

"Propinquity."

" _Lilt, plethora, nemesis_."

"Lilt, plethora, nemesis."

Greta closed her eyes then, and the almost hypnotic hold Luke had felt was suddenly broken. She continued to grip his hand, however, now humming a low note, her eyes working back and forth rapidly beneath their lids.

And behind her, standing between the shelves, Harriet closed her eyes and began humming along—not the same note as her twin, but one that harmonized. After a moment she began to move, eyes serenely closed, running fingertips along the shelves. She hesitated several times; each time Greta would frown and shake her head, and Harriet would continue, blind but somehow guided by her sister. At last she stopped, fingers touching a particular box, and Greta smiled.

"Ah," said Harriet, opening her eyes and drawing the long box from the shelf. It was gold in color and tied with a gold ribbon. She placed it on the counter beside Greta, who freed one of her hands to lay it on the box, continuing to hum for a long moment.

"Oh, yes, that's the one," she said then, and released Luke's hand. "West Indian Mahogany, nice and durable, very fine grain. The core is dragon heartstring. I'll just scan your hand, dear, so we can charge your account."

She ran her own wand delicately over the back of his right hand, where it was somehow able to sense the invisible stamp, and then nodded. Luke took the box carefully and retreated from the counter as Jackson stepped up for his turn. Settling into an overstuffed armchair, Luke untied the gold ribbon and lifted the lid. In a nest of cotton rested an unassuming carven stick of deep red wood, contoured slightly at the thicker end for a more comfortable grip. Luke brushed a fingertip along the grain, but didn't dare lift it; not yet, not in such a public place.

Jackson, receiving a purple box tied with a gold ribbon, showed no such hesitation. As soon as his hand had been scanned, he scrabbled to open the box and lifted his new wand high; it was of pale gray wood, with a faint filigree running delicately along its length. " _Wow!_ " he shouted, to the amusement of the proprietors and the awe of the other freshmen waiting their turn.

After they had convinced Jackson to stow his wand for the time being—no easy feat—their little group dined at a cheerful Quidditch-themed restaurant. The décor was amazing (and, to the boys, very distracting), everything from autographed memorabilia to historical photographs (moving, of course) to a life-sized wax sculpture of a famous American Seeker hanging from the ceiling.

"What else do we have to do?" Luke asked, finishing the last of his root beer.

"Check in to the hotel!" said Mr Parker. "Most shops'll be closed for the night by now. Tomorrow we'll get you two measured for your uniforms, and order your books. And I think I know at least one kid who wanted to swing by the pet store."

"Yes, please!" cried Jackson. "I gotta have an owl!"

"An owl? You can just buy an owl? Why?" asked Luke.

"Some of our communication can be sent via regular mail," said Lunsford, "but there are many things that are more sensitive, that we can't risk being seen by Muggles. For that, we use owls. They carry letters, packages—most anything we need to send."

"But…doesn't that take forever?"

"Well, it's not just any bird that gets the job. There are many animals that are magical by nature, and many others that aren't magical, per se, but what we call _magic-compatible_. Ravens, cats, rats…and, most notably, owls. What's more, we've carefully bred strains of these creatures that are even more in tune with magic. Our owls, for instance, have their feathers treated with special charms when they fledge. They're smart, and they know how to be careful…and they can move as quickly and silently as shadows."

Luke was suitably impressed, and started looking forward to choosing an owl.

By the time they checked in to the Skeleton Key Inn, Jackson was yawning every ten seconds, worn out by the excitement of the day. The boys had a little room to themselves, with a connecting door to the larger room where Mr Parker and Doctor Lunsford would sleep, and the moment Jackson saw the two beds his weariness was forgotten; he and Luke jumped on the beds and back and forth across the gap until they collided in midair and fell in a heap. "Serves you right," said Mr Parker, after ensuring that no bones were broken. "Go to sleep! Big day tomorrow."

Only after the lights were out did Luke remember that tomorrow was August 17. After that, he lay awake for a long time.

Jackson, as usual, was snoring, but between his sonorous breaths Luke could hear faint voices from the adjoining room. The wall muffled the actual words, but he recognized Mr Parker's happy voice occasionally interspersed with comments from Lunsford. He even at one point thought that he heard Lunsford laugh, which struck him as odd. While he was wondering why that seemed odd, however, he fell asleep.

On the morning of his eleventh birthday, Luke was woken shortly after dawn by Jackson cannonballing into his bed. This instigated a brief but spirited scuffle that ended when Jackson fell off the bed; undaunted, he threw open the connecting door and announced to his father and uncle that he was ready to begin the day.

After breakfast (accompanied by several cups of coffee for the men), unable to keep a very fidgety Jackson quiescent any longer, the group wandered around Dragontooth Square waiting for the shops to open. Luke and Jackson wanted to go into every little store and diner, but were placated when Mr Parker reminded them that they would have a full week to themselves in Dragontooth before departing for the school. Jackson took a battered little notebook from a back pocket and drew a crude map as they walked, marking stores in which he had a particular interest. Nine-o'clock found them near the eastern end of the Square, not far from the textbook store, so Luke and Jackson pulled out their checklists and went on a scavenger hunt through the shelves. The textbooks were heavy, their modern, glossy pages camouflaged by worn leather covers. Mr Parker lamented the passing of the old texts with their thick parchment pages, but Luke thought the books were a charming joining together of the two worlds.

By the time they purchased their books the store was crowded with other Emerald Hill students hunting down their own. Outside, the morning was already turning hot. "We should have gone to Ivey's first," said Lunsford. "It'll be a madhouse by now."

Indeed, by the time they reached the broad storefront with the words _Ivey's Emerald Wear_ in bright green letters in the window, the line of students waiting to be fitted extended out the door and onto the sidewalk. With no better options, they joined the line; Mr Parker went across the street and brought back ice cream cones for the boys to eat while they waited.

They inched forward as time passed, and Luke noticed many older students waiting to be fitted. "Is this the only place to buy the robes?" he asked.

"Most upperclassmen make do with last year's till they can get down to Red River," said Mr Parker. "That's the city near the school, remember. There are places there that can refit you with new robes. But this is the only place in Dragontooth that's licensed for it."

"You need a license to make clothes?" Luke wondered if the robes, like the owls' feathers, were charmed.

"Well, if every little second-hand store were allowed to sell Emerald Hill robes, they'd end up in all different cuts and fabrics. That can't be allowed." Mr Parker rolled his eyes. "Pretty stuffy tradition, if you ask me."

"The uniforms add a degree of professionalism," said Doctor Lunsford. "After all, these are serious things we're teaching to children."

"Oh, I forgot, you actually like the uniforms."

"I do. And I remember _you_ being awfully excited to wear yours, that first day of class."

"Almost forgot to put the patch on. You reminded me. Always be on the lookout, boys," said Mr Parker, waggling a finger at Luke and Jackson. "Emerald Hill is chock full of people, and you never know when you'll meet a lifelong friend."

There was a long space of time, just after their little group had made it inside the door, in which the line didn't move at all. Being an inch or two taller than most of the people around, Lunsford peered over the crowd for a moment and then smiled. "Ah ha," he said. "That'll do it. The Days are here. I didn't realize the quints were already school-aged."

"Preserve us!" said Mr Parker with a laugh. "All five accepted? They're doing their civic duty, all right."

"Who is it?" Jackson asked, ducking and twisting to try to peer through the people. "Who are the Days?"

"Government employees," said Lunsford. "And faithful devotees of the Strength in Numbers Initiative."

"I think Linda's father wrote the darn thing," added Mr Parker.

"He didn't, actually, but he strongly supported it. You see," said Lunsford, addressing the boys, "it's not a guarantee that two magical parents will have magical children, but it's a stronger possibility than otherwise. The Administration—the wizarding government—provides incentives for full-magic couples to have more children."

Just then the double-doors leading to the store's fitting area flew open and a small army of people came through. Luke, like everyone else in line, couldn't help but stare. The Day family carried with them an aura of ease and affluence. Smartly dressed and smiling, they made Luke feel acutely aware of his scuffed sneakers and uncombed hair. The adults—the father silver-haired and resplendent in a navy suit, the mother in pearls and heels despite her obvious pregnancy—handed out charming greetings with perfect grace. Their children mirrored them: a teenaged boy, the quintuplets, and twin girls of about two, every one of them rosy-cheeked and blue-eyed with tumbling brown curls.

"Doctor Lunsford!" boomed Mr Day, and the entire family turned to watch (an unsettling simultaneous movement) as he came forward to shake Lunsford's hand. "So good to see you. All set for the school year?"

"Just about, thank you, Gavin. Congratulations on sending all five our way."

"Thank you, thank you. We're so pleased. I hope you'll be seeing at least some of them in your class. And maybe little Nyx someday, right, sweetie?" He jogged one of the toddlers on his hip, and then looked down at the boys. "This must be your nephew! Jackson, is it?"

"Yes, sir!" said Jackson, pumping Mr Day's hand with enthusiasm. "And this is my friend Luke."

Mr Day turned his smile upon Luke, his polite attention followed by the rest of his family. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Luke. Good luck this year. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask our Charon. He's a First Junior this year. Knows all the ins and outs. Isn't that right, Char?"

"Sure, Dad." The teenaged Day gave Luke a slightly rueful smile.

"Well, we'd better be on our way. We've reserved some time at Greta and Harriet's."

When they had gone and the line had settled, Mr Parker chuckled. "Aren't they a trip?"

"I like them!" declared Jackson.

Luke had found the encounter intimidating, but kept his opinion to himself.

Once the Days had gone, the line moved more quickly, and within fifteen minutes Luke and Jackson were called through the double-doors. The wide, brightly-lit room had several low platforms, each facing an array of tall mirrors; each station was attended by a witch or wizard who stood scribbling notes while long tapes, guided by the attendants' twitching wands, took measurements. Luke was ushered onto a platform and tried to stand very still as the tapes stretched and wrapped. The mirrors were charmed to give him a preview of what he would look like in his robes, the image changing slightly as the wizard taking his measurements muttered things like "a little longer in the sleeve…take it in under the arms."

Luke marveled at his reflection, secretly agreeing with Lunsford: the robes gave him an air of gravity that he appreciated. But the material looked awfully heavy for a day like today. "Don't they get hot?" he asked over his shoulder.

"You'll have four full sets of robes," said Lunsford. "Two in linen for warm weather, and two in wool for when it gets cold. And remember, Emerald Hill is in the Rockies—it'll get cold sooner than you think. He'll also take the winter cloak," he said to the attendant, "and boots."

"I look _awesome_ ," said Jackson from the next platform, turning to get a better view of himself in the mirror.

When the measurements were complete, Luke and Jackson had their hands scanned and received receipts; the uniforms would be sent ahead of them to Emerald Hill.

" _Now_ can we go to the pet store?" asked Jackson.

Mr Parker pinned his son in a quick headlock and ruffled his hair. "Sure thing, bud. It's just around the corner."

The _Aesir Pet Emporium_ was a two-story building with a magnificent façade. To either side of the door was a large picture window: on the left, an open-topped hutch full of kittens below a hanging cage of red squirrels; on the right, a pair of golden eagles in stately repose, fixing gawkers with imperious gazes. Inside, sections were marked by hanging signs. Luke saw _Amphibia, Reptilia,_ and _Mammalia_ , and at the back of the store a broad staircase was labeled with a sign pointing up: _Aves_.

"I'm going upstairs!" Jackson shouted, and disappeared.

"I'll find him," said Mr Parker. "Take your time, Luke, there's lots to see."

Shadowed by Lunsford, Luke wandered the busy store, staring in open fascination at the cages, pens, tanks, and terrariums filled with all manner of creatures. He saw rats, cats, and bats, ferrets and foxes, squirrels and rabbits in all sizes and colors, giant salamanders with gently smoking skin, tanks of quarter-sized fish that arranged themselves to spell out messages, stately koi in a large pond set into the floor, giant toads that glared up at him pugnaciously, tiny quick-moving skinks and enormous lounging iguanas, lithe ribbon snakes and giant constrictors.

Before heading upstairs, however, he found his feet taking him to the front window where the kittens played. There were about two dozen of them in the hutch, though it was difficult to count with most of them moving. Just watching them made Luke smile, remembering the stray cat that had lodged in his family's garage during one bitter winter; she had given birth to six kittens, and Mark had come home every weekend just to play with them. Luke had begged his mother to keep one, but in the end they had all gone to different homes.

He put his hand down into the pen, and several kittens toddled near to sniff him and paw playfully at his fingers. One in particular rolled onto its back, holding Luke's thumb with its little legs and gnawing at his nail. Beneath its baby fuzz, Luke thought it would be a dark tabby. It looked up at him with eyes the blue-gray of all kittens, and the sunlight turned its whiskers into a silvery halo.

"Hi, little guy," he said softly. "You're just a little furball, aren't you?"

The kitten rolled away and licked its shoulder, giving Luke a distinctly reproachful look.

"Oh," he said with a grin, "my mistake, Your Catness."

It padded back to Luke's hand and sneezed on his fingers.

"Sorry," he told it, "I gotta go." Gently he pried its paws away, and gave Lunsford a slightly shamefaced smile as he turned. "The owls are upstairs, right?"

If the _Emporium_ 's lower level had been impressive, the second floor was staggering. It was a maze of large pens extending to the high ceiling, filled with foliage carefully arranged so that the preferred perches were on display to customers. The air itself was in constant motion, buffeted by hundreds of wings both big and small, everything from tiny wrens and finches to another magnificent pair of eagles. There was every sort of parrot Luke had ever heard of (and several he had not), cockatoos, cockatiels, hawks, doves, and, of course, the owls. In a maze of shadows lit periodically with gently-glowing globes on pedestals, Luke saw Long-Eared Owls, Great Horned Owls, Screech and Barn and Snowy, Spotted and Spectacled, Elf and Eagle and everything inbetween.

After a time, Luke and Lunsford found Jackson and Mr Parker at the dim pen of the Great Gray Owl fledglings. When he saw them, Jackson clutched Luke's sleeve and pointed. "That one!" he said in a loud whisper (loud talking was discouraged among the owls; shouting was strictly prohibited), pointing to a particular chick near the edge of the large, messy nest. "Dad says it's one of the biggest kinds! What kind are you gonna get?"

"Oh. I, uh, haven't decided yet."

"Well, hurry up so we can go get lunch."

Jackson left to make his purchase and Lunsford excused himself to find a bathroom, so Luke wandered the owl cages alone. Fledglings and adults alike watched him with eerily intelligent eyes, heads turning silently as he passed, and after a short while he was thoroughly unnerved. These creatures were beautiful, and certainly useful, but he felt no connection to them and had no idea how to decide which to get. He had just given up and decided to ask a store attendant for help when he saw Lunsford in the sitting area at the head of the stairs. At his feet was a little pet carrier.

Luke took the chair beside Lunsford. "You bought something?" he asked.

"Yep." Lunsford carefully lifted the carrier and, to Luke's surprise, deposited it into Luke's lap. "She's a little scared of me, but she liked you all right."

Luke peered through the door of the carrier and saw a pair of eyes gleaming in a back corner. Upon seeing him, the kitten relaxed immediately, padding forward on silent feet and stretching a leg through the door to bat at his nose.

"The kitten? But…"

"Sometimes you choose an animal companion, and sometimes the animal chooses you. That's what I've always believed, at least. The wand chooses the wizard, as they say. That little kitten was yours the moment you saw it. Don't you think so?"

Luke poked a finger into the carrier to brush the kitten's whiskers; it gave a tiny _meep_. "Yeah," he said with great relief. "But I'm supposed to get an owl."

"You certainly don't need one. The school has owls for everyone's use, and I'm sure Jack would let you use his, anyway."

"I thought you were gonna let me buy my own school supplies."

Lunsford shrugged. "I thought you should get at least one gift for your birthday."

"I…but…how did you know?"

"I had to gather some basic information for your application. It seemed like something you'd rather keep private this time around, so I haven't told the Parkers. But I hope you'll allow me this indulgence."

Luke looked away, watching the kitten instead and taking a few steadying breaths until he was sure he wouldn't cry. "Thanks," he said at last.

"Happy birthday, Lucas." They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, and then Lunsford stood, straightening his robes. "Let's go find the others and get some lunch."


	8. Chapter 8

"Write every week. _Every week_. I mean it. Your mom'll go crazy otherwise."

"Okay, okay."

"Obey your teachers. If you need anything, just talk to Uncle Heath."

"I know, Dad."

"Be in by curfew. If I hear you've been put under house arrest, I'll send you a Howler. Right in the middle of dinner."

"Curfew. Yes. Okay."

"Be careful of what the upperclassmen say. Some of them'll tell you lies to get you in trouble."

"Everyone's lying. Got it."

"Jack, that's not—"

"Dad, I _know_." Jackson smirked. "We'll be fine!"

Mr Parker sighed, then smiled. "Yeah. I guess you will. I love you, Jacky-boy. I'm very proud of you."

"Love you too, Dad." Jackson gave his father a hug, then pushed him toward the Portal. "Get going or you'll be late for dinner."

"Fine, fine." Mr Parker took a handful of the powder from a shallow dish on a pedestal beside the roaring fireplace, and turned to wave one last time. "Bye, boys. Have a great year!"

"Come see me when you get to the school," Lunsford said to Luke; Jackson, waving to Mr Parker with both arms, wasn't paying attention. "My classroom and office are in the west wing of White Hall, two levels down."

"Okay. I will." Luke repeated the directions to himself, hoping he would be able to remember them at a time when they would make sense. "Thanks for everything."

Lunsford ruffled Jackson's hair in passing, and departed through a sheet of green flame.

Jackson sighed, looking around at the warm lamplit evening and pulling the notebook, with its hand-drawn map, from his pocket. "Well," he said, "what should we do first?"

Luke gently confiscated the notebook. "Eat dinner," he said. "It's only Sunday. We have five whole days—let's not wander in the dark. Okay?"

Jackson rolled his eyes, but grinned. "Fine. Race you to the hotel!"

* * *

 _Dear Mark:_

 _I'm here in New York city!_ _Wow a lot has happened since I wrote you last time. I found out Jack's dad and his uncle are wizards (and probably his little sister too but they won't find out for a long time). Jack is going to a special school to learn magic, and guess what? I get to go too! I'm a little nervous but I think it will be alot of fun._ _Jackson and I are staying in a hotel in this place that's just for wizards until we leave for school. We leave on the 25_ _th_ _._

 _Saturday was my birthday. Did you remember? I'm eleven now. I didn't tell anyone because I didn't want them to feel bad that they didn't get me anything, but Jack's uncle got me something anyway. Can you guess? It's a kitten! She's gray with stripes and white paws and a tiny white dot on her nose. I need to think of a name for her. She's coming to the school with me._ _I'll try to get a picture of her to send to you. Wizard pictures move, so if I could get one that moves that would be even better._

 _I miss you. You can write to me at Jack's address and they can send the letters to me at school, because you don't have an owl. Wizards mostly use owls to send letters._

 _Luke_

 _P.S. Sorry for the bad writing. My kitten was trying to grab the pen._

* * *

"Where do I send a letter?"

Jackson glanced up from the slice of toast he was buttering. "I know there's an owlry somewhere here. Didn't we see it on, like, Tempest Street? We can ask the guy at the desk."

"Uh, I don't think I should use owls for this. It's to my brother. Aren't there any mailboxes here?"

"I dun fink so," said Jackson around a mouthful of toast.

It was Monday morning, their first morning alone in Dragontooth Square. Jackson had a long list (and his scribbled map, which now took up four pages of his notebook) of things to occupy them for the week, and Luke wanted to get the letter sent before they both got distracted.

"Hm." Luke absently tickled the whiskers of his little gray kitten, who was curled in his lap and purring.

"I know," Jackson said, leaning forward and waggling his eyebrows conspiratorially. "We could go outside."

"Outside? You mean…" Luke trailed off, suddenly and oppressively aware of the urban sprawl of New York City just beyond the walls of Dragontooth Square. The kitten lifted her head and watched him.

"Come on, not everyone can always send everything by owl. People got Muggle relatives, you know? I bet grownups pop outside all the time. There's gotta be a way."

Luke fed the kitten a crumble of bacon; her tongue rasped against his fingers. "I don't know…"

"Hey."

Luke and Jackson looked up, surprised, at the older kids who had stopped beside their table. It was a boy and a girl, fifteen or sixteen years old. "You say you wanna go out?" the boy asked. "To the big city?"

"Yeah!" Jackson said. "You know how?"

" _Shh_ ," the girl hissed, glancing toward the lobby where several hotel employees were visible. "We're not supposed to," she said, "but there's a way. We can show you, if you want."

"Okay!" Jackson scooped up his notebook and stuffed it into his back pocket. "Let's go, Luke!"

As they headed toward the lobby, Luke grabbed Jackson's sleeve. "Jack," he whispered, "didn't your dad _just_ tell us to be careful what older kids say?"

"Oh, come on. They seem nice. And you wanna send that letter, right?"

Jackson pulled away and hurried to catch up with the older students. Luke sighed, and gently put the kitten down on a couch in the lobby. "You stay here," he said, touching the white spot on her nose. "Be good and I'll get you ice cream later." She looked up at him solemnly, and as he followed Jackson and the others, Luke tried to dismiss the feeling that the tiny kitten disapproved of his decision.

The morning was bright and busy, a bustling, cheerful sort of day that made it hard to feel anxious. "I'm Nelson," said the boy, taking a toothpick from his pocket and chewing on it. "This is Veronica. We're Second Juniors. That's sixth-year, you know. I take it you're first-timers?"

"Yep! I'm Jack, and this is Luke!" said Jackson. "So you guys have gone outside the Square before?"

"Sure," said Veronica. "The adults think it's dangerous, but as long as you're careful, it's no big deal." She looked at them pointedly. "You _can_ be careful, right?"

"For sure! How do we get out?"

"Easy," said Nelson. He began to walk, and the others fell in behind him. "You can't just walk out. The inbetweenspace is sealed tight, and even if you scaled that wall—" he jabbed his toothpick at the border of Dragontooth Square, the blank gray wall that loomed behind the dragon's haunch—"you'd just bounce right back. This is confined space, y'know? There's only one way in and out, and that's by Floo."

"But they've got people watching the Portal," Veronica said. "And you can't just boom to any fireplace you want. It's gotta be hooked up to the network. To get a private fireplace in the network, you've gotta pass inspection and get licensed and all. So where does that leave adventurous souls like you and me who don't wanna be stuck in a cage?" She mounted the stoop of an apartment building and pushed one of the call buttons, then grinned at Luke and Jackson. "We need a guy on the inside, that's what."

" _Yeah?_ " said a tinny voice from the speaker.

Veronica leaned close to the speaker and said clearly: "Burt Reynolds has a luscious ass."

There was a snort of laughter. " _Good to know. You'll have to try again, though._ "

"You're behind the times, Ronnie," said Nelson, and leaned around her to push the speaker button. "My name is Jim, but most people call me…Jim."

The buzzer sounded. " _Willkommen_ ," said the voice from the speaker. " _Bienvenue. Welcome. C'mon in._ "

There was a brief lobby with an elevator, but Nelson instead led them to a narrow stairwell. "There's no charge for your first time going out," he said as the four of them trooped upward. "Five bucks a pop after this. Got it?"

"Got it," said Jackson. "Who's that guy, anyway?"

"Sherman Ingles," said Veronica. "He graduated a couple years back. Inherited the apartment from his uncle, I think. Pretty sweet, living in Dragontooth. There are waiting lists _generations_ long to get a spot here. Sherm makes a killing designing charmed toys, so he can afford it. But on the side, he runs this little charity, letting kids in and out."

"And adults," said Nelson.

"And adults," Veronica agreed, with a sly smile. "Adults who don't want the Portal attendants—who are Admin employees, y'know—logging their moves."

They emerged onto the fifth floor, the walls of which were papered rather garishly with orange stripes. At a door marked 5-J, Nelson stopped and rapped a knuckle. A shadow darkened the peephole briefly, and then there was a metallic rattle as the chain was withdrawn and the door opened. "Oh, hey, Nelson," said Sherman Ingles, who was tall and lanky with a shock of unruly blond curls. "Ronnie. Been a while."

"Hey, Sherm." Veronica tipped her head toward Luke and Jackson. "Brought you some fresh blood."

Luke's stomach squirmed uneasily, but Sherman merely gave them a distracted sort of smile and stepped aside. "Well, let's get to it, then."

Sherman's apartment was not large, nor by any means fancy, but the moment he stepped inside Luke forgot about leaving Dragontooth Square. Piled in corners, hanging on wires from the ceiling, jostling for room on every table and chair and windowsill (and a large portion of the floor) were toys. Mostly small and made of colorfully-painted tin or polished wood, there were birds lazily flapping their wings, trains chuffing white steam, soldiers marching in place or aiming tiny rifles, dinosaurs swiveling their heads, airplanes with turning propellers, trucks and cars trundling around tracks, and countless more, everything in astonishing profusion.

" _Wow!_ " shouted Jackson, his hands twitching.

"Huh?" Sherman looked around as though just noticing the toys. "Oh yeah, these are my prototypes. Don't touch anything, yeah?"

Jackson immediately stuffed his hands into his pockets. Luke smiled. They followed Sherman, Nelson, and Veronica through the maze of colorful toys, ducking and swiveling to avoid bumping anything. In the sitting room, connected to the outer wall of the apartment building, was a fireplace, its mantel also crammed with toys. On the hearth was a bucket piled high with fist-sized bags of knotted burlap; Sherman scooped out several and handed them to the visitors, accepting five-dollar bills from both Nelson and Veronica.

"First time is free," he said. "Don't lose the powder or you're fucked. Be back by sundown. And don't do anything stupid, huh?" He frowned at Luke and Jackson with vague concern. "What's your names?"

"I'm Jack Parker, and this is Luke Baxter," said Jackson. "We start at Emerald Hill this year."

"Mm-hm. Jack and Luke. Well, I usually change the password once a year. I'll put the word out at school when I do. And I hope I don't even have to mention that if you tell any adults about this deal, I'll come after you myself. And I'm a pretty accomplished hexer. …Hey, you're just starting this year? Can you even do a fire charm?"

Jackson and Luke looked at each other, then shook their heads in unison.

Sherman jabbed a finger at Nelson and Veronica. "Don't ditch 'em. Meet back or something."

Nelson rolled his eyes. "Sherm, we spread the word, but we're not babysitters."

"Come back without them and you lose your exit privileges."

"Got it," Veronica said quickly. "No problem." She drew her wand, said some words that Luke thought might be in Latin, and jabbed the wand forcefully at the fireplace; immediately a fire appeared, in full blaze. "See you in a while, Sherm."

"Have fun." Sherman disappeared into another room.

Nelson untied his bag of Floo powder and scooped half of it into the fire, which promptly roared up larger and turned green. Enunciating carefully, he said, "The Rose Garden," and walked through the flames.

Veronica gestured to Jackson and Luke. "Remember to say it clearly."

Jackson at once tossed in some of his Floo powder. "The Rose Garden!"

When had had gone, Luke—who was still feeling very ambivalent about this adventure—used his own bag of powder. "The Rose Garden," he said, and when he could see distant light and movement through the window of fire, he braced himself and stepped through.

Considering the name of their destination, Luke was surprised to nearly trip over a loose jumble of brick fragments as he arrived. Nelson stood chewing his toothpick in the gloom of shadow cast by the tall buildings all around. They were in a small vacant lot, overgrown with weeds and generously strewn with piles of discarded building material. Luke turned; against one wall was a haphazard frame of cinderblocks that vaguely suggested a fireplace.

"Bums camp here sometimes, but mostly it's empty," said Nelson. "There are only a couple public fireplaces in the city, and this is one of them."

"Where's Jack?"

Nelson bobbed his head toward the mouth of the lot, and Luke saw a small form silhouetted there against the bright light of the street. He hurried in that direction, picking his way through half-rotted scraps of lumber and around a pile of moldy mattresses. Behind him, he heard a _whoosh_ and felt a brief flare of heat as Veronica arrived.

Jackson stood with one hand resting on the brick of the building, peering through a large hole in the chain-link fence. "Jack," said Luke.

"Luke! You ready?"

"Wait," Luke said, grabbing Jackson's arm. "We have to meet back up with Nelson and Veronica, remember?"

"And you'd better not be late," said Nelson, coming up behind them. "Four-thirty, right here. Don't get lost."

"Okay!" said Jackson, brandishing his wristwatch (which, even at its tightest setting, hung slightly loose on his skinny wrist). "We'll be here!"

The older students ducked through the hole in the fence and disappeared around the corner.

"Jack," said Luke, "four-thirty? It's only nine-thirty now. That's _seven hours_. We can't be out here alone for seven hours!"

"If they can do it, why can't we? C'mon, it'll be fun! We could go to Times Square, or the Statue of Liberty!"

"We don't even know where we are."

"So we look up, and find the biggest buildings. The Empire State Building is really big, right? They have maps there. It'll be fine."

 _You were right_ , Luke thought, picturing his kitten's concerned little face. _We should never have done this_. But it was too late—not being able to start the fire on their own, they were at the mercy of Nelson and Veronica. "We're not going far from this spot," he said. "We can't get lost."

"You worry too much." Jackson slipped through the hole in the fence and trotted out to the sidewalk; Luke could do nothing but follow.

This street was residential and not very busy, but even from afar sound of the traffic hit them like a blow, and Luke realized that Dragontooth must be charmed to keep out the noise because it was tremendous, a constant whining humming grinding roar that pulsed in his ears. He had lived just outside a medium‑sized town all of his life until moving to the Parkers', who lived out in the country. As they crept toward the busier road, Luke was astonished. The street was a solid wall of cars. The exhaust saturated the air, and the light and motion and noise made him feel disoriented and very small.

"Wow," said Jackson quietly.

Luke made an effort to focus. Glancing back and forth, he pointed toward the nearest corner, where street signs were visible. "Come on, let's figure out where we are and then find a mailbox."

Staying close to the building, they made their way slowly along the sidewalk. Jackson craned his neck, staring around with open wonder. "How do they build the top parts?" he asked, squinting.

"I don't know." Luke held tightly to Jackson's arm, bobbing and weaving to keep sight of the street signs through the quick-moving pedestrians. He tried to maneuver them closer to read the words, but suddenly they were caught up in the current of people, drawn along like alien debris in a river; before Luke could do anything about it, there was asphalt beneath his feet and they were crossing the broad avenue in front of a wall of vehicles. When they reached the opposite sidewalk he looked for more street signs, but Jackson tugged hard, dragging him away from the corner.

"There!" Jackson cried. "A mailbox!"

"Okay," said Luke. His heart beat with painful force. "Let's drop off the letter quick."

They had to squeeze and push, almost fighting their way toward the box, following the curb. Someone coming up behind Luke bumped him hard and he stumbled, falling to his knees and accidentally shoving Jackson, who popped out of the pedestrian flow like a cork from a bottle and landed directly in the first lane of traffic.

There was a squeal of brakes, the crunching screech of metal on metal, and the musical tinkle of shattered glass, some of which peppered Luke's shirt as he knelt on painful knees. People were shouting, someone was pulling him to his feet, and he was just inhaling to shout Jackson's name when the people blocking his view moved apart and he saw Jackson sitting up slowly, staring with enormous eyes at the bumper about a foot from his face. The car had swerved partway into the next lane and its front corner had collided with the side of a taxi; both drivers were out and shouting, their faces a mixture of anger and relief.

Luke shoved his way into the street and helped Jackson to his feet. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

Jackson nodded, looking shell‑shocked. "My butt hurts."

"Well, you fell on it. Come on, let's go."

"You're bleeding."

Luke looked down and saw blood on both of his knees through torn holes in his pants. "It doesn't matter."

"Hey, kid!" The driver of the car that had almost hit Jackson looked shaken, his face purplish with emotion. "What the hell were you doin'? I almost killed you!"

"Yeah, he's really sorry," said Luke. "Someone bumped us. We're just sending a letter, so we'll be going now."

"Hey, hang on!" This was a new voice and Luke's heart fell into his stomach with a sickening splash to see a police officer approaching. "Lemme talk to you boys."

"We just wanted to mail this!" cried Luke desperately, pulling the envelope from his pocket and waving it around before shoving it through the slot into the mailbox. "Really! We're going home now!"

The police officer reached for Jackson's shoulder and the boy jerked away. Luke heard a wooden clattering. Time seemed to stand still as he and Jackson stared, dumbfounded, at Jackson's wand laying bare on the sidewalk. Luke felt faint. The scene had taken on a nightmarish quality for him. More people were stopping to look. "What's that?" asked a boy a few years younger than Luke, hanging onto his mother's sleeve.

"N‑nothing," said Jackson, scooping up the wand and holding it protectively to his chest. "It's just a stick. I…I carved it. At camp."

" _Boys!_ "

This voice cut through Luke's rising panic: a strong voice, a voice of authority. A woman approached them, her heels _click-click-click_ ing on the sidewalk. She was Asian—Chinese or Japanese, Luke thought, looking smart and professional in a tweed skirt-suit, and he could only stare, dumbfounded, as she drew Luke and Jackson away from the police officer with firm but gentle hands. "I've been looking everywhere for you," she said. "You were supposed to stay in the store."

Jackson just stared, mouth slightly agape. "Uh," Luke said, still frightened but feeling a little better beneath her protective touch. "Sorry. We just, we had to mail the letter."

"Well, you should have told me." She looked up at the officer. "What happened?"

"I'm afraid your boy just caused an accident, ma'am," said the officer, twitching an elbow toward Jackson. "Ran right into traffic."

"That's not true!" Luke edged closer to the woman. He had never seen her before, but she appeared to be on their side, and there was something about her confidence that strengthened him. "Someone bumped us, and he fell!"

"I believe you, dear." The woman gave Luke's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "Now, officer, my boys have been through a lot and it's time I got them home. I'm sorry for the trouble."

The officer scowled and started to protest, but stopped in mid‑breath, looking closely at the woman, who had gone quite still. As Luke watched her, he felt his heart rate slow, returning to normal. A rising tide of warm calm washed over him. The incident was over. No one was hurt, and the drivers had insurance. He and Jackson hadn't done anything wrong. It was just an accident, the sort of thing that happened dozens of times a day in a city like New York. It was just business as usual…

Luke blinked, feeling suddenly that he had almost fallen asleep on his feet. He looked around, bemused. Everyone around them had relaxed…and everyone was watching the woman. People passing the scene who happened to glance in their direction would pause thoughtfully and then pass into a sort of dreamy lassitude. The woman smiled; everyone watching her smiled, including Luke. And it was only then that he realized, with a strange mixture of trepidation and relief, that she must be a witch.

The police officer rolled his shoulders slowly, and nodded as though the woman had said something. "All right then, ma'am. Have a nice day."

"Thank you, officer," the woman said, still smiling. "Come along, boys."

There was an eerie silence behind them as they left the knot of spectators, a bubble of quiet that was soon swallowed by the general roar of the city. They crossed the street, returning to the block that contained the Rose Garden.

"Now, what," said the woman as they walked, "are you two doing out here by yourselves?"

Jackson looked up at her. "You mean, you know about…"

"Dragontooth, yes. How did you get out?"

Jackson held his mouth closed so tightly that his jaw clenched; the woman looked at Luke, who dropped his head. "We're not supposed to tell," he said.

To his surprise, the woman smiled. "Sherman. I should have known! He ought to be more careful about who he lets through. I hope you've learned your lesson about how dangerous the city can be. Next time—if you're silly enough to attempt it again—stick with someone older who knows what he's doing."

"We came through with some older kids," said Jackson, "but they had other stuff to do. We're supposed to meet back at four-thirty."

"So they ditched you out here for an entire day?" The woman sighed. "I apologize on behalf of the rest of the student body. I'd like to think most of them wouldn't do such a thing to freshmen." The three of them turned back into the vacant lot and the woman shooed the boys through the hole in the fence before ducking through herself.

"You're coming back with us?" asked Jackson, looking alarmed. "Sherman told us not to tell any grownups."

"You let me worry about Sherman," said the woman. "Besides, you can't start the fire yourselves, can you?" Approaching the makeshift fireplace, she drew her wand, and then paused. "Would you like to try?"

Luke opened his mouth to decline, but Jackson was quicker. " _Yeah!_ " Jackson nearly tripped over his own shoelaces as he leapt forward, drawing his wand. "What do I say?"

"It's not just the words, it's the motion as well. Watch me." The woman held her wand horizontal and level, raising her arm at the elbow, and then moved it forward with a slight dip. "But more quickly. It's like a jab at the end. Try the motion."

Biting his lip, Jackson copied her motion, and she corrected the angle of his elbow. "Better. Now, the word is _Incendio_."

" _Incendio!_ " Jackson repeated.

"Good. Now try it all together. At the fireplace, please, not at me."

His face wild with glee, Jackson faced the fireplace and swooped his wand through the motion—rather too sharply, Luke thought. " _Incendio!_ " There was a loud _pop!_ and a few halfhearted puffs of flame sputtered from the end of Jackson's wand. His face fell. "I didn't do it right."

"Well, it's your first try." The woman patted his shoulder. "Again. And hold back a little. It's a jab, not a stab."

Jackson gave a determined sigh, and Luke was startled by the look that came over his friend's face. Jackson was suddenly focused and still, eyes sharp, wand poised. He looked… _like a wizard_ , Luke thought, awed. Jackson practiced the motion once, slowly, then nodded to himself. " _Incendio!_ " he said, with the perfect jab, and a bright jet of flame shot from his wand into the fireplace. Jackson looked shocked.

"Very good," said the woman. "Good form. Now go on through—say _Sherman Ingles's house_. Tell him we'll be along in a moment."

Jackson dug in his pocket for his pouch of Floo powder, and tossed in the remainder. "Sherman Ingles's house," he said carefully, and Luke thought he saw the familiar jumble of toys behind the green flames before Jackson stepped through.

The woman gestured with her wand, and the flames disappeared. She looked at Luke, and smiled at his surprise. "Don't you want to try?"

Luke shrugged, a little embarrassed by his own wariness. "Maybe."

"What's wrong?"

"I dunno. It's just…is it okay to teach us stuff? When we haven't even started school?"

She did not laugh, though her dark eyes were friendly. "Would it make you feel better to know that I'm a teacher at Emerald Hill?"

"You are? Really?"

"I am. Beginning and Intermediate Transfiguration. This will be my fourth year teaching."

"Oh."

"And to be honest, you're right. Strictly speaking, I shouldn't be showing you this. But you'll learn it in your Charms class this year—all beginning freshmen do. You could really impress your teacher by getting it right on the first try. But I won't _make_ you try. It's up to you."

Luke looked at the woman a moment more, still unable to decide whether he liked or trusted her. She watched him calmly, a gentle challenge in her raised eyebrows and a sense of eternal patience in the set of her shoulders. At last Luke drew his wand.

He didn't want to have to practice the motion, not in front of her. But he thought that he could feel it in his arm, and he knew exactly with what force he wanted to jab the wand. His tongue rolled over the foreign word behind closed lips as he focused on the fireplace. And as he lifted the wand, he remembered the scent of moss and pine, and saw stars appearing in a deep blue sky: _there is magic in you, Lucas_.

He swooped his wand forward. " _Incendio!_ "

A jet of flames coursed into the fireplace and crackled there merrily, without any fuel to consume. Trying not to appear shocked, Luke tucked away his wand and looked at the woman.

She smiled. "What's your name?"

"Luke Baxter."

"Luke Baxter, I look forward to your time at Emerald Hill." She gestured to the fireplace.

Luke tossed in the last of his Floo powder. "Sherman Ingles's house."

When he came through, he saw Jackson perched on the end of a coffee table, turning a red tin airplane in his hands; behind the nearby couch, Sherman was pacing, and fixed a wild eye on Luke. "Who did you tell?" he demanded.

Luke simply moved aside as the fireplace roared again, and the woman stepped into the room, primly brushing the ash away from her skirt. "Sherman," she greeted the man.

Sherman ran a hand through his tangle of curls. "Doc Yancey," he said. "You scared the _shit_ out of me."

"You're not off the hook," the woman said sternly. "Who did you send through with these two?"

Sherman gave her a sidelong glance as though considering a lie, but then sighed, defeated. "Nelson Byers and Veronica Lynch."

The woman stared at him until he looked away, guilt written in every line of his face. "They promised to meet back."

"Sure, at four-thirty this afternoon."

Sherman looked shocked. "They, uh, didn't mention that."

"No, _you_ didn't ask." She pointed a threatening finger at him. "Slip up like that again, and I'll report you myself. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled.

"Come on, boys." The woman led Luke and Jackson through the maze of furniture and toys and eventually out onto the street. There, her face softened and she smiled at them again. "Sherman has a good heart, and he's a brilliant inventor, but he can be a little absentminded."

"So you're okay with him just letting kids go out into the city?" asked Luke.

" _Okay_ would be a strong word for it. There have been others like him in the past, others much less trustworthy. If there's one thing I've learned as a teacher—and as a student myself, of course—it's that kids will always find a way to do what they shouldn't. But if they find a relatively safe way to do it…" She shrugged.

"You're a teacher?" asked Jackson.

"I am."

"So's my uncle! Gosh, I hope I'm in your class!"

"Is that so? Who is your uncle?"

"Doctor Heath Lunsford," declared Jackson with pride. "He teaches Chemistry!"

"And he does a fine job," said the woman. "Well, I'd better be on my way. Are you two okay now?"

"Yeah," said Luke. "But what about Nelson and Veronica?"

"Sherman will make sure they don't put any other students in danger."

"He won't ban them, will he?" Jackson looked concerned. "They weren't so bad."

"That's up to Sherman."

"Oh. Okay. Well, thanks. That was scary back there."

"Yeah, thank you," said Luke. "We've gotta go, too. I have to go back to my cat."

"You have a cat?" The woman had already been turning away from them, but paused. "What's its name?"

"Oh, I dunno yet. I just got her. She's a gray tabby kitten."

"Ah. Then may I suggest Grimalkin? It's from _Macbeth_. Shakespeare. A cat owned by three witches, so that seems appropriate."

"Yeah? I like it. I'll see if she does too."

The woman didn't laugh at that, but nodded thoughtfully. "Good luck at school, boys."

* * *

Back at the hotel, the kitten clung to Luke all during lunch, eventually settling down to sleep in his lap with her little claws still hooked into his pants. "I think she knows we got in trouble," Luke told Jackson.

"Yeah, probably. Wizarding cats are pretty smart. Hey, you gonna use that name?"

Luke looked down at the gently-breathing ball of fur. "What do you think, girl? Are you a Grimalkin?"

The kitten stirred and opened one eye briefly. As she settled back into sleep, she began to purr.

Luke grinned. "Grimalkin it is, then."


	9. Chapter 9

His dreams were uneasy. Since the death of his mother, Luke had had nothing but nightmares—during the first few weeks he had actually been medicated to restore normal sleeping patterns—but he had dreamed hardly at all since going to live with the Parkers, and those few dreams were difficult to remember. Upon waking at a quarter past five on the morning of August 25, however, his dreams remained remarkably clear in his mind.

They were the typical dreams of the anxious child before beginning attendance at a new school: being unable to find the correct page in a textbook, wandering halls in fruitless search for a classroom as the minutes ticked by, a test for which he was unprepared…but Luke's dreams that night were touched by the supernatural. As he searched the corridors for his classroom, students around him changed into various animals and back again, or evaporated in clouds of smoke; the test for which he had not studied was covered with diagrams of cauldrons and dragons; the textbook was written in arcane characters that meant nothing to him.

At a quarter past five, he sat up in bed and slowly came back to himself, remembering where he was, and the knowledge hit him like a fist that today was the day he and Jackson would travel to Emerald Hill.

Jackson was still snoring. Luke crept past the other boy's bed and pushed back a corner of the curtain, looking out into the gray light of early morning. Even on this quiet street several witches and wizards were already moving about on various errands; Luke saw one tall wizard with a large owl perched on his arm, to which he fed a scrap of something from a pouch tied at his waist.

 _That could be me someday_. The thought made him feel breathless. _Emerald Hill. Time to become a wizard. Once you get on that plane, there's no going back._ He thought of the dwarves with their jeweled foreheads, the Aether Clock, the Nimbus broom, the wand in the box beside his bed, the kitten with the intelligent eyes…and he smiled. _It's gonna be a good day_.

The hotel lobby was crowded and they ate a hurried breakfast surrounded by many other First Freshmen and, in some cases, their parents. Out in the street, Luke hefted Grimalkin's pet carrier and his own two suitcases (he had had to purchase a second suitcase to accommodate his school supplies) and tried to remember how many blocks they had to walk to get to the Portal. Jackson, with the use of two of his belts, had managed to strap his larger suitcase onto his back, leaving one of his arms free to haul along the large birdcage containing his fledgling owl.

It was, in fact, nearly five blocks from the hotel to the Portal, but they didn't have to walk it all at once, since the lines of waiting people extended from each of the Portal's eight fireplaces nearly out of sight. Dragontooth Square had been busy during their entire stay, but Luke had not thought about what it would be like when all of Emerald Hill's new students had to gather there, to travel to the airplanes that would carry them two‑thirds of the way across the country to their school. Only a fraction of the roughly two thousand First Freshmen had been staying in Dragontooth during the previous days, like Luke and Jackson, but since the only way to access Emerald Hill's airplanes was through the center of Dragontooth's Portal, this morning the Square was a breathless press of anxious parents and children full of nervous energy. The air was charged with the electricity of the mass emotions.

Bit by bit they edged toward the Portal. Luke tried to lean around to see what was happening, but the crowd was too thick. "Jack," he said, "if we have to get to where the planes are by Floo, how come everyone can't just go there from their own fireplaces? That's how they got here in the first place, right?"

"Beats me," said Jackson cheerfully. "Better let up on that handle, or you're gonna break it."

Luke flexed his fingers, loosening his grip on the handle of Grimalkin's carrier. Within, the kitten was huddled in a corner, fearful and annoyed at this upheaval from her pleasant routine. The owl chick, on the other hand, whenever the cover of his cage was pulled aside so they could check on him, glared a baleful challenge at the surrounding people, alert and unafraid. "He needs a name, too," said Luke.

"Yeah, I know. I wanna ask Uncle Heath when we get there."

Gradually they approached the fireplaces. Luke listened hard, sifting through the conversation all around, but could hear none of the short, clear commands necessary to travel by Floo. No one was announcing _airport_ to the green flames, or indeed anything at all. When they were close enough, he caught a glimpse of the fireplaces and was astonished.

The flames, which had been kept high and roaring constantly for as long as he had been in Dragontooth, were extinguished; he saw only one active fireplace, and through that one a stream of students and parents were constantly arriving with trunks and suitcases in tow. The others that Luke could see were cold, and to his amazement the back of each fireplace had been either physically moved or charmed away, leaving an empty space. It had not occurred to him to wonder what was in the center of the circle formed by the eight fireplaces, but now he could see—there was a brief walkway around the perimeter of the circle, and a stone staircase that spiraled down below the street.

Luke's nerves jangled as the line advanced. There was confetti in the air around the fireplaces, and he noticed that the owners of the street's shops were standing in their doorways or looking through the front panes, and in the lopsided apartment buildings witches and wizards were leaning out of the windows, watching with smiles and sending up more confetti from their wands. Young children, kept safely away from the temptation of darting through the open fireplaces, gazed on with admiration and longing. The girl in front of Luke said goodbye to her mother, presented her ticket, and stepped through the fireplace to descend the stairs, and Luke looked up at the witch posted at the fireplace. She smiled pleasantly, and Luke realized that she, too, had come this way as a child. So had the mother of the girl who had just departed, standing by and looking through the fireplace‑door, eyes misted over with nostalgia; so had the people calling from the windows, and the confetti was in celebration of Luke and his fellows beginning their journey of full initiation into wizarding society. Luke was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of history and belonging, the weight of all those who had come before him and the knowledge that he was a part of it all, a small cog in the ever‑turning machinery of this hidden world.

He returned the witch's smile, and showed his plane ticket. She nodded, and gestured through the fireplace. "Carry the cat," she told him, "but you can just toss the suitcases down into the middle."

Luke was startled, but as he stepped forward over the swept stones (dark crumbles of ash still lurked in the corners) and peered over the edge of the hole, he saw, perhaps fifty feet below, moving carts. Another boy enthusiastically shoved his trunk over the lip and watched it tumble, end over end, landing safely in one of the carts—which Luke saw were padded—and cruising out of sight. Reassured, Luke gingerly held out his suitcases one at a time and let them fall, and then followed the other boy down the steps with Jackson (who showed no hesitation in heaving his suitcases over the edge) close behind. The stairs wound down the periphery of the hole, and at the bottom emptied the students into a spacious, well‑lit underground tunnel. The line of carts ran down one side, carrying its cargo of suitcases parallel with the flow of students, guided by adults who were like pillars among the chaos, calmly offering direction and comfort. They all wore the bright green robes of the Portal attendants.

Jackson hovered close by his elbow, looking around with quick, darting movements that reminded Luke of a bird, occasionally stumbling over the shoelaces that he could never seem to keep tied. Following the lead of the others, they made their way to the conveyor belt and nestled the owl's cage and Grimalkin's case among the luggage there before moving along the tunnel with the current of children. The tunnel caught and magnified the students' chatter until it was impossible to distinguish any one voice or sentence, and Luke wondered why they all kept talking anyway. At one point, as he was glancing over his shoulder, he noticed that Jackson's mouth was moving in a constant stream of speech, but he could not hear a single word. He smiled and nodded and kept walking.

The tunnel came to a T‑intersection, and the perpendicular line had tracks with passenger cars on them, like a miniature underground train, all green enamel and dark wood and brass finishings. The students piled in with no regard to order, cramming as many as possible onto each narrow bench and hanging off of the sides until the stationed adults pulled them off with admonishments of the danger. Luke found himself squished between Jackson and the side rail and tried not to be claustrophobic as the little train began to move slowly. More students jumped on as empty cars came past, and Luke turned his attention from watching them to peering ahead for a sign of what was to come.

The train ride lasted half an hour, winding below the Muggle city. At one point they passed fairly close to a subway train, separated by the stone walls, and the passage of the larger, more powerful train made the entire tunnel shake and shiver. At this the children fell quiet, clutching more tightly to the rails and the hanging handles and to each other, humbled by the sudden nearness of a world to which they no longer belonged. It made Luke feel very strange. _If they only knew_ , he thought with a rush of unfamiliar emotion that was almost giddy in its intensity. _If they only knew how close we are_.

At last the train came to a stop, and Luke was bemused to see a row of metal ladders against the stone wall, leading up to the surface via what looked like manholes. Jackson dragged Luke to one of the ladders, and they joined the stream of children climbing up toward the bright light of day.

Topside, Luke stumbled through the dazzling brightness, rubbing his eyes and blinking rapidly until he was able to see. "Oh, wow," cried Jackson. "Luke, look! Emerald Air!"

It was a sight to stun the most jaded of eyes: not one plane, nor two, but no fewer than ten _Boeing 747_ s, gleaming white, each with a wide green band that narrowed to twist itself into the words EMERALD AIR. A team of men in green uniforms with the white _EA_ logo on the back were hauling luggage from the carts, which had emerged from a ramped tunnel, and transferring it in long hand‑to‑hand lines to other belts that carried it up into the planes. Luke saw with some relief that the animal cages were being handled with great care.

Across the tarmac, which was shimmering with heat, Luke could see the rest of the airport (the name of which he did not know). It was bustling with Muggles, tiny with distance, and for a moment he wondered how on earth they did not notice these hundreds and hundreds of children appearing from underground and boarding their planes, but then he realized that wizarding airplanes could certainly not be governed by Muggle airports. The Muggles were probably not even aware of the existence of these planes—after all, if magic could hide an entire town like Red River, it could certainly hide ten _747_ s.

He and Jackson followed the others, who were in turn being led by more green‑uniformed adults, and suddenly found themselves climbing a set of twisting iron stairs that led up to the loading door of one of the planes.

"Welcome to Emerald Air," said a smiling attendant, and she took their tickets and tore off a section before returning them. "Please, go as far back as you can and fill in the empty seats."

Luke found himself in an aisle seat on the left-hand side of the plane, with Jackson just across the aisle in the rows of center seats. On Luke's other side were two girls, one of whom stared eagerly out the window, and another, in the middle, who was reading. Luke tilted his head to get a better look at the book, for it appeared very old, its pages yellowed and crumbling and the leather binding cracked and worn almost to black in places. It was written in a language he didn't recognize, but the girl—whose face was hidden by a fall of hair that was a startling bright cherry red—had her head bent studiously over the pages and was silent, completely absorbed.

Luke had been on several planes in his life, most notably the previous spring when their mother had taken him and his brother up to Minnesota on a fishing trip, but he had never been on a plane so large, and found himself nervous. It was hard to believe that something so heavy could launch itself into the air and stay there. But he held his tongue, and watched with interest across the aisle as Jackson and his neighbor tried out a brand‑new pack of Exploding Snap cards. After the first, rather spectacular, explosion the cards were confiscated by a flight attendant, but she promised to give them back upon their arrival in Cheyenne, which Luke thought very decent.

At last the time for takeoff arrived. Luke fastened his seatbelt and pulled it tight across his hips, and picked idly at the fuzz on the dark green upholstery of his seat. The plane rumbled, its engines warming, and moved slowly across the tarmac—looking out the window, Luke saw that their plane was third in line. He leaned forward, watching out the window as the distant airport passed by, but then he found his view slowly narrowed and then completely obstructed by a book, which the girl beside him had moved into his view.

"Uh," he said, confused. "Could you move your book?"

The girl threw him a positively venomous look and he drew back without meaning to; she had a sallow, pinched face that looked sickly, especially when bordered by such vivid hair, and her pale eyes were alight with rage. The glance did not last long but it startled Luke badly, so that as the plane taxied he looked straight ahead or over at Jackson. But when the time came for their plane to take off, he looked out the window again—this had always been his favorite part. As he looked, however, once again the book edged itself deliberately into his view.

"Hey," he said, "I'm trying to look out the window."

The girl slammed the book closed, and Luke jumped in his seat. She glared at him fiercely and hissed, "And _I'm_ trying to read my book! What's your problem?"

"Excuse me," said a flight attendant who had come up beside Luke, "is there a problem?"

Luke opened his mouth but the girl spoke first, loudly: "I was just reading, but he said he couldn't see, and then he pinched me."

Luke stared at her, astonished beyond words at this injustice. She was not pretending to be vulnerable, but stared up at the attendant brazenly, as though defying him to challenge what she had said. The attendant turned severely to Luke and said, "That behavior is unacceptable. If it happens again, I'll have to report you." Then he left, going to his seat for takeoff.

Luke's face burned. He felt like crying or screaming, like taking his case to the highest court to have the girl punished. How unfair! He had never minded paying the price for something he had done wrong, but being wrongfully accused stung him deeply; it reminded him of his older brother, who had often tried to pin his crimes on Luke, though fortunately their mother had always been able to see the truth.

A piece of gum was flipped into Luke's lap and he looked over at Jackson, who was smiling in an unusual way—this was a gentle, commiserating smile, and it made his face look older. Luke unwrapped the gum and began chewing it. He had told Jackson about how his mother had always given him gum to help his ears pop during flight, and Jackson, who had never flown, had been eager to try. But Luke's spirits were deflated and he spent takeoff staring moodily at the back of the seat in front of him. It was bound to be a long flight.

* * *

In reality, it was not as bad as Luke had anticipated. They were served peanuts and soda—being promised a late dinner upon their arrival in Cheyenne—and watched an orientation video about Emerald Hill, which Luke found fascinating. He devoured every tidbit of information, including the tantalizing glimpses of the campus and smiling, waving professors, but the video was designed to be informational but not too revealing, leaving most of Emerald Hill to be a surprise. It spoke mainly of what could be expected from the various classes and what the freshmen's schedules would be like.

After that a movie was shown, a new Muggle release called _The Man Who Would Be King_ , and Luke had never seen a movie that he liked so well. He made a mental note to put it on his Christmas list, was briefly depressed by the realization that he had no parents left to buy him Christmas presents, and consoled himself with the knowledge that the Parkers would surely include him, and his brother was bound to send something. Then he remembered that the Parkers did not own a VCR, and he and Jackson began forming an elaborate plan to convince Jackson's parents to buy them one for Christmas, along with the video of _The Man Who Would Be King_. "I'll be Peachey," Jackson declared, "'cause you'd make a better king. So you be Daniel Dravot." They did their best, and failed comically, to speak with English accents.

The flight took six hours, but due to the time zones only four hours had technically passed, which Luke tried to explain (without much success) to Jackson as his mother had once explained it to him. He was glad to get away from the girl with the cherry‑red hair, who had elbowed him several times throughout the flight, though he had not dared complain. The sun was setting, and after disembarking into a large open building that reminded Luke of a barn, far separated from the Cheyenne airport itself, the students were served a late meal. The flight attendants and luggage handlers doubled as servers, and did a fine job. Luke gathered that these were all attendants of the Portal in Dragontooth, who usually worked only once a week or so, but every year were pressed into service to accompany the freshmen to Red River.

Despite the excitement, travel and full stomachs conspired to make the students very tired. They were loaded onto a fleet of buses, all of which were white with a green stripe to match the airplanes, and trundled off into the night; each was given a pillow and a fleece blanket, both in green. Luke had a window seat. Jackson was asleep moments into the ride, his pillow against Luke's shoulder, and Luke propped his pillow against the window, looking up at the stars until he drifted into the dark incomprehensible realm of sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

He woke with a bump. His head knocked against the window and he jerked upright, blinking rapidly to clear the sleep from his eyes. Consulting his watch, he saw that it was nearly seven in the morning. In the seat beside him Jackson was curled into a ball, his face half‑hidden by the green fleece blanket, and Luke elbowed him gently, for the bus was slowing as it approached a wide plateau where several other buses were already parked and unloading their students. Jackson snorted, peering blearily from beneath the blanket, but snapped wide awake immediately when he looked past Luke out the window. "We're here," he breathed, with such a reverential air that nervous excitement stirred uneasily in the pit of Luke's stomach.

"I don't see any buildings," he said, leaning close to the window to look around. All he saw were pine trees and scrub, and he had a brief but vivid mental image of students sitting in a circle atop a hill of green grass, while the professor lectured from the center, perched on a giant mushroom.

"Well, it's not here, it's up the hill." Jackson wadded his blanket into a corner of the seat and stretched. "We gotta go through the whole choosing thing first."

"Oh, right." Jackson's explanation of how students at Emerald Hill were sorted into groups had been jumbled and confusing, as his father and uncle hadn't been clear in their explanations to begin with. Luke got the impression that much like the orientation video had been designed to inform without revealing, alumni of Emerald Hill considered it their privilege to keep its secrets and hint rather than explain.

They filed off the bus and joined the large group of First Freshmen, shaking the last bit of sleepiness from their limbs and blinking in the morning light. When he first stepped to the ground Luke was momentarily stunned by a blast of odor, something strange and powerful and so all‑pervasive that it overwhelmed him. It was not unpleasant, a sharp and tangy and fresh sort of smell, but it confused and disoriented him because look as he might, he could not see what might be making it. It suffused the very air. He asked Jackson, who stopped bouncing from one foot to the other long enough to sniff and admit ignorance.

The buses were parking in a roughly circular, roughly flat clearing of yellowed grass and patches of small white stones, and Luke watched as more came rumbling up the slope, following a narrow line of gravel that was more of a path than an actual road, winding serpentine through the thick pine trees that covered the slopes. He looked further up the mountain but still could see no sign whatsoever of Emerald Hill, only an expanse of trees and boulders thinning toward a peak that looked impossibly high. Luke thought he could see a rim of snow at the utmost top, but it was hard to tell.

He fell to watching the other students, and noticed adults walking through the crowd, lifting their wands and conjuring from thin air picnic tables and checkered cloths, and standing tents for shade; others were unloading various items from the buses such as baseball equipment, Frisbees, and footballs. "I thought we were going to the school now," he said to Jackson, who, though almost too excited to be attentive, was his only point of reference.

"Oh, we are, but not all of us. The upperclassmen, their buses go to a different place and they get to go up right now, but us first freshies gotta wait and go in little groups, 'cause we can't be all chosen at once. Or something."

Just then a bell rang, a silvery tinkling that reached the entire clearing with ease, and following the sound Luke saw a woman standing on a plain, old‑looking wooden platform at the edge of the trees. She was short and stout and smiling, with a lot of frizzy red hair pinned back with only partial success. The crowd moved toward the platform. Luke recalled from his question-and-answer sheet that there were about fifteen hundred students in each year, but the sheer size of such a crowd surprised him. A vast bobbing sea of young, eager faces turned upward toward the woman and the ringing of the bell, which was suspended in the air above her head and looked far too small to make such noise.

She pointed her wand, which was short and dark, at her throat and her lips moved, and then when she spoke her voice was very loud, as though amplified through powerful speakers. Luke tried not to be dazzled. "Welcome," she said, and her voice was very pleasant. "Welcome, first‑year students, to Emerald Hill. As you may know or may have guessed, I am Cindy Redding, your Assistant Principal."

A little cheer ran through the crowd like a ripple. Cynthia Redding bowed her head briefly, cheeks aglow with gracious pleasure. "You may have noticed that there are very many of you." Smiles, murmured agreement. "Obviously, the process of getting you all assigned is going to take a while. Entertainment and meals have been arranged for those of you whose waits will be extended, and we ask that you please buckle down and make the best of it. By suppertime, you're guaranteed to be assigned and happily installed in the Emerald Hill campus." Her round cheeks dimpled when she smiled, which was often. "Now, we're going to do this alphabetically, I'm afraid." This earned a varied response, the louder being the groans from those whose surnames fell farther down the alphabetical scale. Redding held up a consoling hand. "I know, I know. Try to be patient. Will the following students please approach the platform?"

She called ten names, all of whose surnames ended in _A_. "Lucky you!" cried Jackson, punching Luke in the arm. "You're a _B_. I have to wait until Parker—it's gonna be past lunch!"

It was close to half an hour before Luke heard his name called, and he left Jackson playing baseball and approached the platform with nine others. Up close he saw that Cindy Redding was only as tall as he was. "All ten," she said, swinging her legs as they dangled from the edge of the platform where she sat. "Good. Principal Zander is waiting for you at the gate. Doctor…"—here she checked the list on her clipboard—"Doctor Lunsford will be accompanying you."

Luke had not noticed the man among the small group of professors standing to one side of the platform, and when he came toward them the boy grinned reflexively with genuine pleasure. "Hello, Lucas," said the man, smiling his ghastly smile. "Good to see you again."

"You, too." The other nine students in the group watched this familiar exchange with mixtures of jealousy and awe, and Luke almost felt that he owed them an explanation but could think of no graceful way to go about it. _Um, I have to live with this boy because my mom died, and Lunsford is his uncle_. He was saved from this when the professor began walking, and the students fell in behind him. There was a footpath behind the platform that led through the trees, and its look and feel were that of great use, which made Luke wonder for a moment just how many students had walked this way before him, counted by the silent trees.

"Do you like the balsam?" asked Lunsford suddenly, reaching up to finger a few needles on a dangling branch. "The scent is a shock at first, I know, but before long you won't even notice it."

"It's the trees?" asked a girl with long blond braids.

"Yes, the northern balsam have a very distinctive scent."

Luke smiled to himself, glad to have had his question answered, and breathed in deeply. Many years later and far from this place, the smell of balsam fir would still have the power to transport him back to Emerald Hill and this very moment, so vividly that he would hear the crackling of dead needles beneath his feet and see the girl's blonde braids swinging against her back.

The path ended in another clearing, a sprawling mountain meadow alive with flowers and insects, all abuzz in the morning light. The waist‑high grass looked wild, and the whole place, framed on all sides by thick walls of trees, had a hushed, cathedral air that made Luke want to tiptoe so as not to disturb it. The path ran unerringly straight through the center of the meadow, and even from afar the gate was visible, an enormous structure of wrought iron, bands as thick as Luke's arms twisted into what appeared a purposeful image, but Luke could not decipher it until someone behind him whispered, "Pegasus." Then, of course, the picture leapt out, and could not be unseen. The two halves of the gate were mirror‑image winged horses, rearing up, and for their eyes there were set in the iron large green stones that Luke believed immediately to be real emeralds, though each was the size of his fist.

He did not notice the man at the foot of the gate until they were almost upon it. There was a jumbled pile of white rocks to one side that formed, coincidentally or not, the vague shape of a chair, and here sat what could only be the principal of Emerald Hill. Gerald Zander was tall and broad‑shouldered with a rugged, handsome face and a very white smile, and his black hair, lightly peppered with gray, was slicked down across his forehead. His long black robes had gold lacing down the chest and the clasp at the neck was a galloping golden horse, wings held close, with tiny green stones for eyes.

He stood to meet them, spreading his arms expansively. Luke's immediate impression of Principal Zander was that of an authoritative but friendly man.

"Welcome!" he said in a deep booming voice that was cheering in the hush of the meadow. "I'm Gerald Zander, your principal. Now, you've been on Emerald Hill property for some time, but you're about to enter the grounds themselves. There may not be an obvious wall on either side of this gate—" he gestured for emphasis and Luke saw that it was true—"but don't let that fool you. The Emerald Hill campus is protected by some of the most powerful and most innovative spells known to wizardom. No one who has not been assigned by this gate, or is not escorted by someone who has, can cross this barrier. So we'd better get you assigned so you can go in!

"Now, if you please, arrange yourselves in a horizontal line, facing the gate. Yes, that's right—just there. Good! Now, all together, approach the gate and grasp a bar firmly in your wand hand. Maximum contact produces quicker results, so don't just use a finger. Yes, go ahead."

Doctor Lunsford stood off to one side as Luke moved forward with the rest of the line, hesitantly, having no idea what to expect. He held out his left hand and gripped the nearest iron bar, which happened to be part of a pegasus's back leg. For a moment nothing happened and he glanced around, but then one of the children gasped and Luke looked back at his hand, which was turning blue.

There was no mistake—where his hand was touching the iron, a light blue stain was spreading over his skin like ink, bright and vibrant. Looking at it, Luke had the distinct sense of being chosen, as though he had just passed some rigorous test of acceptance, and it filled him with a strange frightened exultation. He looked at the others—there were two reds, a yellow, three oranges, one purple, one other light blue, and one dark blue among the group.

"Wonderful! Now, stay still, keep your hands there." The principal drew his wand, which was long and of a pale yellow wood, and walked behind the line, tapping each student on the head. "Ruby," he said. "Gold. Sky. Flame. Flame. Night. Sky," tapping Luke. "Ruby. Royal. Flame. Very good, you may let go now." Grinning nervously, the students gathered into a tighter group, watching as the colors faded slowly from their skin. "Congratulations!" said the principal. "You have all been successfully assigned a color, which here in Emerald Hill we call a style. You're one step closer to full initiation!"

Luke rubbed a thumb across his palm thoughtfully as the last of the color disappeared, and looked up to meet Doctor Lunsford's kind eyes. "Which were you?" Luke asked, and the others looked over.

"I was Silver," said the professor.

"What about you, sir?" asked one boy of the principal.

Zander smiled. "Ruby, and proud of it. You'll wear your styles every day of your school life, my new friends, on the collars of your robes and on badges that will identify you." He put a large hand on the boy's shoulder. "Keep your styles well, for they have earned you admittance onto these grounds. Now, onward! There are many left to be assigned today." He raised his wand again and the gates opened outward, emitting creaking groans that seemed to vibrate in Luke's gut. Lunsford moved through at once and the students followed, buoyed on the elation of their successful style assignments. The path here was broader and lined with white stones, and the pine branches overhead laced together like a ceiling. Luke trotted to catch up to Lunsford. "How does the gate do that?" he asked. "I mean, what kind of magic is it, and why does it give the assignments it does?"

"So many questions," said Lunsford, but he was smiling. Luke was on his good side, and was surprised at the difference that it made in the man's face to not see the scar—Lunsford looked perfectly normal, even handsome in his way. "Emerald Hill's founders forged that gate, and spun some deep magic into the bars. We actually know surprisingly little about it. As for the why…well, I don't have a good answer for that, either. I've always thought it's something in the pulse, or the grip. Maybe it's random. Just one of those very old things that nobody bothers to question but inquisitive children." He smiled again. "Anyway, your style says nothing about your personality—that's what the Heart Ring is for."

This sounded so exotic and mysterious, like something from a book that would include elves and dragons and, well, wizards (this thought made Luke smile), that the air of the group grew immediately tense. The path was leading steadily uphill, with every now and then a broad switchback, and by the time they reached their destination the students were puffing…but then they forgot to be tired.

The Heart Ring was a circle of well‑laid paving stones about fifty yards in diameter, with lines of green marble branching out from the center and leading to six massive statues of dark stone which were facing into the circle. "Gryphon," said Lunsford, pointing, "dragon, phoenix, unicorn, kitsune, sphinx. Not to scale, of course. You'll step into the circle one by one for your choosing. That's why it always gets backed up here—it can't be done in a group. Here, watch this one."

There was a small knot of students on the far side of the circle, and the other half of that group on the near side. One of them, a tall girl with pretty chestnut hair, was walking out into the ring. She stood in the center, where the six lines of green marble came together, and turned in a slow circle, looking wary but steady. Suddenly she jumped, and whirled to stare at the unicorn, and the fear in her face was replaced almost at once by wonder and delight. Luke looked hard at the unicorn statue. It was beautifully made, carved in great detail with cloven hooves and flowing mane and a delicate spiral horn, but he could see nothing that would make the girl react so dramatically. "Thank you," said the girl, hands clasped at her chest, and she left the circle to join the others on the far side.

"What just happened?" asked a boy near Luke.

"She was chosen," said Lunsford. "I won't spoil the surprise. Come on, let's wait over here while the others go."

There was an entire other group between Luke's and that of the chestnut‑haired girl, so they settled in to wait. It was hard to look away from the choosing. Even after seeing many other students, each one that entered, no matter how confident, would still react with shock, staring wide‑eyed at one statue in particular, though the statues neither moved nor made any sound. It was an enigmatic sort of magic that Luke found very appealing, and he was looking forward to his turn. As the group ahead of them was finishing up, there was a small commotion at the entrance to the clearing and Luke saw a mass of brown curls bobbing their way. "Ah," said Lunsford, "the Day children have arrived."

Luke remembered this family from Dragontooth Square, and watched with interest to get a first good look at the quintuplets. They were tall for their age and built slim, the two boys lanky and the three girls willowy, with dark brown hair, china blue eyes, and rosy cheeks, each looking remarkably like the next. They were chatting together in bright confident voices and brought with them an air of bustling good cheer that made them seem a much larger crowd than five. As they spread out among the tables, one of the girls caught Luke's eye and bounced over to sit on the bench beside him.

"Hi!" she said, and her teeth were perfect. "I'm Theia."

She held out a slender hand and Luke shook it, bemused. "Luke."

She was about to speak again when one of her brothers called her, and she swept off like a bird taking flight, only to be replaced immediately by a sister, who to Luke's eye looked identical to Theia. Lunsford, who had been sitting on Luke's other side, gave Luke a slight nudge with his elbow as he stood, and Luke huffed, a little embarrassed. The previous group had finished, and Lunsford presently guided the girl with the blond braids into the Heart Ring.

The second Day girl did not immediately say anything, looking happily around the clearing, and then fixed Luke with a look of shrewd amusement. "Do you like Theia?"

Luke blinked. "What, her? Uh, I don't know, I just—"

"Don't worry, I'm kidding. I know you like me better." She laughed so prettily that Luke found it strangely difficult to be irritated. "I'm Andi, Andi Day."

"Luke Baxter."

"I know, the professor told me."

"What? When?"

"Just now." She gestured. "It's your turn."

"Lucas Baxter," Lunsford called again, and Luke walked quickly to him, confused and flustered. Lunsford smiled at him. "Go on in."

His feet in their tennis shoes tapped quietly on the stones. From the center of the circle it seemed much larger, the statues towering over it, studying him with eyes that seemed to glitter in his peripheral vision but never when he looked straight at them. A faint sound tickled his mind, a susurrant whisper at the edge of consciousness that had no source or meaning. He turned slowly, looking at the statues—elegant phoenix with long swanlike neck, sphinx with sad woman‑face and powerful leonine body, fierce dragon with countless carved scales and jagged teeth, gentle unicorn that even in stone inspired quiet joy, foxlike kitsune with inquisitive face and many tails, noble brooding gryphon with sharp beak and proud stance. He reflected on this and guessed that that was the key to the choosing: which creature would best relate to him?

 _(Lucas Alan Baxter.)_

The voice was deep and rough, and reminded him immediately of the sound hot coals make when stirred with a stick. Luke's heart leapt in his throat and in that instant he understood the reactions of all those before him. He stared in blank awe at the statue of the kitsune, for it had stood, moving with the smooth fluidity of muscle and bone rather than stone, and leaned in slightly, looking at him with thoughtful, crafty eyes. _(You are mine,)_ it said without opening its mouth. Its tails fanned out behind, their fur rustling in a breeze where there was neither fur nor breeze.

Luke bobbed his head, swallowing hard. "Thank you," he managed to say. The kitsune nodded and sat back on its haunches, tails curling into to their former position and freezing. And suddenly it was a statue again, solid, cold rock, with no hint of life in the eyes that had seconds ago pierced him.

"Wasn't it amazing?" gasped the girl with blonde braids as he joined her on the far side of the circle. "The gryphon—it moved, it spoke to me! The wind from its wings blew my hair." She fingered a braid unconsciously. "But you didn't see it, did you?"

Luke shook his head. "And you didn't see the kitsune speak to me."

"It didn't move." She laughed breathlessly.

From Luke's group there were two Gryphons, one Sphinx, one Dragon, four Phoenixes, and one other Kitsune. Lunsford crossed the ring last of all, and paused to face the sphinx and bow. The boy from the group who had been chosen by the sphinx was very excited about this. "You were a Sphinx like me, weren't you?" he asked shyly, pushing dark hair out of his eyes.

Lunsford nodded, smiling. "Congratulations," he told the group, "you are now official students of Emerald Hill, each with a style and a herald. Will you each please tell them back to me? Let's start with you, there."

"Gold Gryphon," said the girl with braids, a little uncertain but excited.

"Ruby Phoenix."

"Sky Phoenix."

"Flame Dragon." (The boy with this assignment looked particularly pleased with the combination.)

"Night Gryphon."

"Sky Kitsune." Luke couldn't help but be proud at this; it sounded wonderful.

"Ruby Phoenix."

"Flame Sphinx."

"Flame Phoenix."

"Royal Kitsune."

Lunsford nodded. "Very good. Let's start walking, shall we? There's some climbing left to do." He started along the path and this one was rocky, with as much scrub as trees, angled steadily upward with more, and more narrow, switchbacks. "You two"—he pointed to two of the children as they walked—"are both Ruby Phoenixes, so get used to each other's faces, because you'll be having all of your classes together." The two, a boy and a girl, exchanged shy smiles.

"Professor," said the boy who had been assigned as a Flame Sphinx, "what is that place, anyway? When the sphinx talked to me—was it real, or just a charm?"

"Oh, it was very real." Lunsford seemed unaffected by the steep trail. "You see, the school founders wanted a way of separating their students into like‑minded groups, so that professors with similar inclinations could be assigned to each group and make the lessons more effective. They could have used a charm, but charms like that tend to deteriorate over time, so for the sake of continuity—keeping things the same from year to year—and to eliminate maintenance, they decided to use animal spirits instead."

Many of the children gasped. "So they're _ghosts_?" said the Ruby Phoenix girl uneasily.

"Bet she was raised Muggle," muttered one boy to another, behind Luke.

"Not exactly," Lunsford was saying. "You can't choose to become a ghost. This is an old magic, very popular in ancient times for purposes of guarding and warfare. What Emerald Hill's founders did was approach an animal of each species and procure its spirit to remain in the statue until it tired of the task. This was easier with the sphinx and the kitsune, of course, because even in their wild state they are capable of abstract thought and even form societies. For the other species, the founders went to the oldest living members, bringing along witches and wizards who had dedicated their lives to the study of those species and could best communicate with them. It's apparently very difficult to get through to a dragon, but I suppose they managed it somehow, for there it is."

"It sure is," said the boy who was a Flame Dragon. "I could hear the fire crackling way down in its throat. It didn't talk, but I felt like…I felt like it knew me."

"And in a way, it does. Of the six creatures in the Heart Ring, the dragon best represents your personality, so you'll probably get along with the others in your classes because you'll understand them."

"Are boys ever chosen by the unicorn?" asked one boy whose assignment Luke could not recall. "I'd hate it if I was."

"You must not know much about unicorns," said Lunsford, but in such a kind way that it carried little sting. "Unicorns are wild and powerful, the swiftest land creatures that have ever lived, and they have been known to kill predators with those horns. Never mistake a gentle spirit for weakness. There is no assignment more or less admirable than another—each of the creatures is beautiful and strong. It is up to each student to find his own beauty and strength with the gifts he has been given."

This struck Luke as so remarkably wise that he was momentarily speechless. The other students in the group looked similarly awed and for a while they proceeded in silence.

After nearly twenty minutes of steady progress on the slope, Luke's uneasiness grew. The pines were thinning the higher they climbed, allowing a better view of the mountain above them, and still he could see no signs of buildings or any manmade structure whatsoever, only wind‑bent scrub and scoured boulders. But Lunsford appeared completely at ease, and Luke wondered if he could see something that the rest of them could not.

"Um," said the girl with the blond braids timidly, at last. "Where is it?"

Lunsford smiled. "Up the stairs."

"What—"

And then, suddenly, they came upon the staircase. It was half‑hidden by a flurry of bushes, old and cracked, leading about a hundred feet directly up the slope and stopping abruptly. They clustered at its foot. "So," said Lunsford. "Who's first?"

Several of the boys took off at once and Luke was just behind them, leaping up the steps two at a time, craning his neck upward, waiting for the magic. And as he watched, the mountain began to bend, stretching upward from a horizontal line at the top of the stairs, and as he climbed he was able to focus and realized that this was no true magic at all, but a simple trick of perspective—from below the slope had appeared uniform, but as he neared the top Luke could see that he was approaching the lip of a large plateau…or so he thought, until he arrived at the head of the stairs and looked down on Emerald Hill.

It was a bowl, maybe half a mile across, that looked as though it had been scooped from the mountainside. Though the landscape all around was barren and dusty, the bowl itself was verdant and vibrant, a bright green jewel nestled against the mountain. Running every which way through the grass and trees and hedges were walkways of dark brick that from above looked like veins, and through them pulsed the tiny figures of upperclassmen. The buildings were ornate, with steeply‑pitched roofs and gables and dormer windows and iron railings, connected by covered walkways, and there were many spacious courtyards; Luke spotted a baseball diamond near what could only be a Quidditch field, a pond thick with cattails and marsh grass, and a railed walkway along the top of the largest building, which had a circular center with mirror‑image wings branching off to either side.

"If you think it looks small, don't be fooled," said Lunsford from behind them. "Only about half of Emerald Hill's building area is visible—the rest is built into the mountain itself. In fact, you don't have to go above ground at all if you don't want to. The buildings and dormitories are connected by tunnels. Useful in winter when the weather gets really bad."

"How do you keep something like this hidden?" asked Luke, unable to tear his eyes away from the glowing gem of life spread out below him.

"Magic," said Lunsford, and Luke could tell that he was smiling.

a

A narrow staircase, chiseled from the rock with a railing on the lower side, led in a crazy zigzag pattern down the side of the bowl, and the ten students in Luke's group took this single file, alternately talking excitedly and lapsing into wondering silence. Lunsford had gone back to the bottom to lead another group, leaving them to enter the campus by themselves. The grass started out thin but was soon a ubiquitous carpet, thick and green, and there were knots of trees that Luke knew and loved—oak, red maple, birch, white pine and hemlock, even willows near the pond. It was warmer here than it had been on the mountainside, with less wind, and the bricks of the path radiated the sun's heat. The stairs ended in a broad courtyard paved with white stones, and in its center was an ornate statue of the Emerald Hill sigil, a winged horse rearing. At its base several upper‑term students were lounging in the shade, and as Luke's group arrived one of the older boys stood and approached them.

"Hey," he said. "I'm Gary. Welcome, and all that. I'll take you to the dorms."

Emerald Hill was full of hedges but they were not well‑trimmed, having grown slightly wild, and that precise look was so rampant that Luke began to suspect that it was purposeful—what might have been garden beds were now tangles of wildflowers and long grass; bits of dilapidated stone walls that might once have had purpose lay in magnificent crumbling disrepair, covered in thorny vines; ivy crept up trees and stones, half‑obscuring several statues and even the path in places. The grounds had an air of comfortable age, as though they had been around long enough to not care at all what the students thought of the untidiness.

Luke liked it very much.

Lunsford had told him that Emerald Hill was famous for its stonework, and Luke now saw the truth of that. There were statues everywhere, some monuments or tributes and others simply works of art, mostly in marble or bronze though Luke saw at a distance a running unicorn that he was certain was carved entirely from rose quartz. Famous witches and wizards stood surveying slightly overgrown meadows, fantastic beasts dominated cobbled courtyards, bronze figures sat at repose on benches with ivy twining up their legs. It seemed like an endless fascinating maze to Luke as they walked, but he remembered from the above view that most of the buildings had been situated close to the mountainside.

Two enormous oak trees stood sentinel at the entrance to the dormitory courtyard, their branches twined together overhead and shading the brick path as it spread like a river running into a lake. The yard was very large, square, with two dormitories on each of three sides and a patch of grass in the center with a few trees and benches. The dormitories themselves were very impressive, massive and sturdy, all brick and stone and beams of rich dark wood, with tall windows at ground level and round windows higher up. All six were identical except for the statues in front: each creature guarded the dormitory of its students, shaped from bronze, not as lifelike as the ones in the Heart Ring but life‑sized and impressive. Upperclassmen were scattered across the yard and on the broad steps leading to each dormitory's doors, looking perfectly at home.

"Here you go," said Gary, wearing a funny little smile as though he were seeing it again for the first time. "Unicorns and Kitsunes on the right, Phoenixes and Dragons straight ahead, Sphinxes and Gryphons on the left. Your dorm presidents will be waiting at the doors to give you your badges so you can get inside."

Luke's group splintered, walking in smaller clusters across the courtyard, and Luke found himself accompanied by a boy with gingery hair who looked very nervous. They passed the Gryphon dormitory and the statue of the kitsune, which was no larger than a biggish dog but with very long legs, and climbed the broad shallow steps of Kitsune to the stone porch and the fifteen‑foot doors, beside which sat a tall and very pretty girl. She stood as they approached, smiling. "Hi! I'm Mandy Kines, Kitsune president. So you're joining us this year, huh?"

Luke glanced at the other boy, who looked unable to speak. "Yeah," he answered. "I'm a Sky Kitsune."

"Great! And your name?"

"Luke Baxter."

The girl took out a notebook and a beautiful peacock‑feather quill, writing his name in golden ink. "All right, then, here's your badge. You wear it on your robes, like this." She indicated her own, on the left chest panel. "You need it to get into the dorm, and into some classrooms, plus the teachers go postal if they see you without it, so just keep it on all the time."

She handed him the circular badge. It looked handmade, the stitches tiny and perfect, and the kitsune and the border were white until Luke touched it, whereupon the white stitching faded immediately to the same sky blue that his hand had turned upon touching the gate. The back did not feel sticky, but when he put it to his shirt it held as though it had been glued.

"Go on in," said Mandy. "Boys are to the left."

He left the ginger‑headed boy squeaking out "Royal Kitsune" and went to the doors, which opened obediently at his touch, moving much more easily than he would have expected for something of their size. The doors opened upon a narrow tiled anteroom that ran the entire length of the building, and the walls were solidly lined with hooks and little floor‑level compartments, which Luke assumed were for boots. Several jackets and sets of robes were hanging here and there, and here and there a pair of sneakers or sandals had been kicked into a compartment. A broad archway led into the dormitory itself, and Luke found himself grinning as he entered.

 _The Den_ , proclaimed a small plaque on the wall, and the name was fitting. The ceiling was four stories tall, the floor was all deep carpeting, and the walls were hung with banners in all Emerald Hill colors. Part of the room was sunken, full of armchairs and low tables with cushions around, and a convoluted set of stairs and ramps connected several lofts with bookshelves and bean bag chairs. A fireplace took up nearly half of the far wall, and above it was hung a panoramic oil painting of kitsunes, which, after the way of wizarding art, moved—the kitsunes cavorted and whispered, alternately engulfed in flame and shrouded in shadow, some curled in corners and others staring brazenly out of the frame as though appraising Luke. He moved closer to look at them, and stood so for several minutes. "Beautiful," he whispered without meaning to.

"Aren't they?" said a voice, and Luke turned, surprised, to see an older girl, maybe fifteen, sitting cross‑legged in an armchair with a large book open across her lap and wire‑rimmed glasses on her freckled nose. She did not look at Luke, though, watching the painting. "Sometimes I just sit and watch them. It's especially nice at night when the fire's going."

"I didn't see you there," said Luke. "Where is everyone?"

"Out and about, mostly. Or unpacking. Which you have yet to do, I take it." She pushed her glasses higher on her nose with a practiced flick of her finger. "Where's home for you?"

"Kentucky. I mean, I was born in North Carolina, but now I live in Kentucky."

"Wrong," she said, firmly but without malice. "You live here now. Unicorns always return to the place they were born, and gryphons live in the same eyrie all their lives, but kitsunes are nomads. Wherever we are is our home."

Luke considered this. "I guess you're right. I hadn't thought about it before."

The girl smiled. "I'm Zoë Fratelli. First Junior."

"Luke Baxter."

"Well, then." She returned to her book, but spared him a final glance over her glasses. She had very dark eyes. "Welcome home, Luke Baxter."

There were six doors set in each of the right‑ and left‑hand walls of the Den—boys to the left, and girls to the right—and the first door on the left had inlaid enamel panels of light blue, so Luke went there. Revealed was a stairwell leading both up and down, of sturdy wooden steps with a dark green runner; there were portraits on the walls that greeted him as he climbed. Each floor had several blue‑paneled doors marked with golden numbers, and at the second above‑ground floor he found doors marked 1, which he assumed indicated first‑year students. Beside each door was posted a list of names, and he found his name (with no little amount of relief) on the last door on the right, adjoining an outer wall.

There were six beds in the room, low to the ground and separated by rows of half-height shelves and drawers that ran the length of the beds; all was blue and white against the dark wood of the walls, and there were three large windows. In the center of the room was a large pile of suitcases and trunks, and perched on the top of this pile was a slightly battered pet carrier, through the door of which Luke could see a pair of white paws.

"Grimalkin!" he cried, and clambered up the pile to retrieve the case. The kitten, once released, submitted to his petting and then made a beeline for the bed nearest the door on the left. She curled up in the center of the blue‑checkered bedspread and set about combing her rumpled fur.

"That one, huh?" Luke pulled his suitcases from the pile—barely avoiding being trapped in a small avalanche—and tossed them onto the foot of the bed, sitting beside them. "If you say so." The bed shared a window with the bed beside it, and the sill was broad enough to accommodate a cat, so Luke was satisfied. He unpacked his meager belongings and arranged his clothes in the drawers and the rest on the shelves. Looking out the window, he could see a corner of the courtyard with more benches and a few apple trees, and a part of the Phoenix dormitory.

The door opened behind him and he turned to see a boy with wispy light hair. "Hey!" said the boy. "You're in here, too?"

"Yeah. I'm Luke Baxter. This is my cat, Grimalkin."

"Dave Cavanaugh. Hey, cat." The boy—Dave—extracted his two largish suitcases from the pile and stood indecisive for a moment, looking around at the other beds. He took a step toward the bed beside Luke's, asking with raised eyebrows and tilted head what most other people Luke had ever met would have asked with words, too many words. As he had with Zoë, Luke had the immediate sense of being understood by this person, and felt a surge of wordless gratitude toward whoever had implemented the herald system.

He nodded, and Dave went cheerfully about setting up his space. Luke explored the room and set up Grimalkin's litterbox in a corner of the bathroom, which was the sixth and numberless door on the floor. He lingered at the windowsill in the bathroom, fascinated to read the hundreds of names and dates that had been carved there; many of the very old ones were unreadable but he was fairly certain that a boy named Ben had been there in September 1845, by which he was duly impressed.

"What time is dinner?" he asked Dave, back in the room.

Dave shrugged. "Six, I think."

It was only eleven in the morning. With nothing to otherwise occupy his time, Luke filled Grimalkin's food and water dishes and set them up at the foot of his bed, and set out to do a little exploring of the grounds.


	11. Chapter 11

The girl Zoë was nowhere to be seen when Luke made his way down to the Den, but there were a few other freshman students lingering there before making their way up to their rooms. Luke exchanged brief pleasantries with them, feeling relaxed and lighthearted as he paused in the doorway to the anteroom. To his right, at the end of the long room, was another set of large double‑doors. Remembering Lunsford's mention of the connecting tunnels, Luke went there immediately, half expecting the doors to be locked, but they opened easily, revealing a short staircase carpeted in dark red.

The tunnels were broad and well‑lit by sconced torches (which Luke could only assume were magically fueled), with rounded brick walls and plaques at the junctures to give direction. It hardly felt like being underground. Luke followed the path—there was only one way to go from here—to the center of the courtyard, where the tunnel branched hugely; he read the signs indicating tunnels to the six different dormitories, to the outer school buildings, and to two different locations in the mountainside halls. He chose the path that, by his estimation, would lead directly below the mountain slope behind the Dragon dormitory. _White Hall lower east wing_ , read the plaque, _Greenhouse Eight, Brightwater Towers_.

He was quite alone in the tunnels, feet padding softly on the stone floor, and found that he liked the closed‑in silence. As he walked he passed several smaller openings, mostly on his right, that were all closed with padlocked iron grates that showed signs of being broken through numerous times. He paused at one of these, peering through the chilly metal grate and listening to the quiet nameless chuckle deep within the narrow passage, and could understand completely the temptation. The school was old—it had been around since the colonial times, he knew that much—and it was intriguing to wonder where the older passages led, what purpose they had served, why they had been abandoned.

"What are you doing?"

Luke jumped, badly startled, to see a man standing a short distance down the tunnel, the way from which Luke had come, dressed in robes that marked him as a professor. "Where are your robes?" he asked.

"I, uh, didn't put them on yet. I was just looking around." Luke knew that he had no reason to feel guilty, but edged away from the grate nonetheless.

The man pursed his lips. "You're heading toward the professors' quarters, you know."

"I am?" Luke was genuinely surprised. "I guess I didn't see the fork."

"Yes, I know, you're fascinated with those old tunnels. Everyone is." The man came closer, looking through the grate; he was very tall, his head almost scraping the ceiling of the passage, with short dark hair and square glasses. "There's nothing back there. Except the lake, of course."

"The…lake?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." The man's heavy eyebrows lifted, and he did not so much as glance at Luke.

Luke nodded slowly. "Okay, I know there isn't anything back there, but what do you think an underground lake in the Rockies might be like? If there was one somewhere, I mean."

The man's lips twitched in what was almost a smile. He cleared his throat. "I suppose it would probably be very deep, and absolutely frigid. Cold enough to shock all the air from your lungs if you were silly enough to go for a swim. But you didn't hear that from me."

"Hear what?"

A short, barking laugh escaped the man, and he gave Luke a long, appraising look. "Your name and style?"

"I'm Luke Baxter—Sky Kitsune." He loved the sound of it.

"Well, Luke, when you're signing up for your junior courses, think about Arithmancy. I could use more like you in my classes."

"I will, sir."

"Now, just turn around and take the first right you come to. That'll take you up toward the classrooms."

"Yes, sir. Thanks."

Recovered from his shock, and pleased that his first interaction with a strange professor had gone so well, Luke did as instructed and soon passed through double-doors into a very normal-looking stairwell leading both up and down. Climbing toward natural light, he emerged into a long corridor, lined on both sides with many doors, lockers, and glass display cases. There were upperclassmen here, and Luke got so many stares (and one verbal admonition) that he returned to his dorm and changed into his robes. They felt strange, but he liked them: fitted in the torso with draping sleeves and long swishing hem, and the silver clasps on his chest with their tiny connecting chains that made a very faint musical jingling as he walked. He studied himself in the full‑length bathroom mirror, and caught himself looking so lost that he had to laugh. _Get used to it_ , he told his reflection.

He meant to return to the classroom buildings, for he had seen things in the display cases that he longed to investigate further, but he had decided to go above ground this time and was soon lost among the rambling brick paths. He came upon the unicorn statue that he had seen from afar and found that it was, as he had thought, carved from rose quartz; it said as much on the plaque at the statue's base. _The swiftest land creatures that have ever lived_ , Lunsford had said, and this was reflected in the beast's flowing pose, as though in flight. Luke tentatively touched the cool stone neck, amazed at the bare knowledge that unicorns were not just fairy tales. He imagined the unicorn leaping from its base and gliding across the little meadow, white and shimmering.

If he had ever thought about it, Luke would not have considered himself the sort of person who would do well with magical things. He found it strange to catch himself fantasizing about unicorns. _But I really am a wizard_ , he told the statue silently. _The gates gave me a style, and the kitsune chose me._ He reflected that maybe just finding out something about yourself made you change to become more of that thing, and he wondered whether his brother, now that he knew he was a Muggle, would now feel the absence of magic in his life.

Luke wandered further, every now and then coming upon groups of upperclassmen who regarded him without interest until he left. He saw more groups of new arrivals being led toward the dorms and wondered how far along the sorting was; it was past one‑o'clock now. Realizing that made him hungry, so he watched and saw that most of the upperclassmen were heading in a specific direction, and he followed them. They came to what looked to be an outdoor classroom, a long open pavilion with rows of benches and a desk and chalkboard pushed off to one side, and the students' desks had been laid with bread rolls, condiments, and cuts of meat and cheese. Luke helped himself along with the rest and wandered the paths with a sandwich in one hand and two cookies in another, feeling content.

He soon came upon the building that he had seen from above to be the largest. The two wings were enclosed by solid walls but the circular center portion was walled in dozens of tall windows between pillars that were intricately carved with climbing vines and flowers. One of the ubiquitous plaques, this one on a pillar, declared the place to be White Hall. Several sets of double-doors led inside, and as Luke pushed through to enter, he saw that across the way was a staircase fifty feet across at the base but narrowing as it climbed up and into the mountainside, carpeted in green velvet. There were hundreds of round tables on several tiered levels, both above and below this main entrance, and many students were scattered among these, with books or cards or just themselves. Suspended in the center, above the lower tiers and connected to the ground level by delicate-looking wrought iron bridges, was a large loft; no students sat there, and Luke guessed that it was reserved for the professors. He sat at a table alone. As he was finishing his sandwich, he saw Dave Cavanaugh approaching, holding a sandwich of his own. Dave saw him and came over to sit.

"Some place!" he said.

Luke nodded. "It's _great_."

"Did you go to the Joining Glade?"

"No. What's that?"

"It's over near the western slope," said Dave after swallowing a large bite of sandwich. "Not far from the Quidditch field. It's this big clearing where they've got more statues of all the heralds, life‑sized, and they're all like playing with each other. It's the best. You can climb on them and stuff."

Luke was intrigued, but his watch said that it was almost two‑thirty and he wanted to be able to meet Jackson near the dormitories. He told Dave as much and the other boy nodded, untroubled. Luke left him to finish his meal.

There were many students in the dormitory courtyard now, freshmen and otherwise, and Luke strolled around looking for Jackson, having no idea into which dormitory his friend might have been sorted. Then something caught his eye, and he stopped.

He recognized her from a distance by her hair—it was hard to miss, blazing cherry red in the sunlight and clashing horribly with her mustard‑yellow jacket. She was sitting on the steps in front of the Dragon dormitory in the shadow of the enormous bronze dragon statue, reading another old‑looking book—or was it the same as on the plane?—and ignoring the excited hum of activity around her. She looked to Luke like a dark parody of the other students, thin and pale and unmoved.

A group of boys, perhaps third-year (and therefore sophomores), came bouncing down the Dragon steps jostling one another, and one of them stumbled into the girl as she sat, knocking her book to the ground. His friends made a poor show of hiding their amusement while the boy, looking embarrassed, retrieved the book and held it out to her. But the girl sat in stony silence, looking straight ahead and ignoring him completely, until at last the boy tossed the book onto the step beside her and hurried off with the others. For almost a minute more the girl sat motionless, arms around her tented knees, shoulders hunched as she cast dark, accusing glances at the cheerful, sunny day, and then she picked up the book and resumed reading as though nothing had happened.

Luke was fascinated.

"Hey, Luke! _Luke!_ "

There was no mistaking Jackson's voice, shrill with excitement, and Luke turned just in time to see the boy dashing up to him, hastily‑donned robes hanging open, and as he ran he was holding part of the robes out in front of him as though that part pulled him along—it was the space on the chest that held his new patch.

"Flame Sphinx!" he gasped, doubling over to catch his breath. "I'm a…a Flame Sphinx. Isn't it…neat? What are…"

"Sky Kitsune," Luke answered preemptively, and Jackson looked up with wide wondering eyes at the patch on Luke's robes.

"Your dorm is right across from mine!" Jackson cried, pointing grandly from one to the other across the courtyard. "Wow, this is just the best thing that's ever happened. Can you believe we're really here? I can't wait for Monday! Oh, hey, there's that girl from the plane. She's a Dragon, huh? I prob'ly coulda guessed that."

They were some distance from the girl, close to the steps of the Kitsune dorm, and Luke would have been certain that the girl could not hear them except that at that moment she looked up, directly at them. Luke gave an involuntary twitch and looked away almost guiltily, but Jackson met her gaze. "Come on," he said, "let's go talk to her."

He took a few steps and glanced back at Luke, who felt torn between fear of the strange, hateful girl and the nagging idea that Jackson had the right idea. Finally he jogged to catch up and the two of them crossed the courtyard to the steps of the Dragon dormitory. The girl watched their approach with the wariness of a wounded lioness watching the approach of the hyenas. Luke and Jackson stood at the bottom of the steps and for a moment the three regarded each other in silence. The girl spoke first, abruptly.

"What do you want?"

Her tone was scornful and harsh. Jackson flinched, but did not retreat. "What are you reading?" he asked.

The girl stared at him, and her lip twitched slightly in a hint of a snarl. "A book."

"Well, yeah. What language is it in?"

Again she paused, as though weighing her answer against their worth. "Lithuanian."

"Wow. I've never even heard of that. How did you learn it?"

She stuck out her chin, sitting up a little straighter, challenge in her posture. "Taught myself."

"Really?" said Luke, interested despite himself.

"I don't lie!" she snapped.

"What's it called?" asked Jackson, forestalling Luke's retort.

The girl returned her gaze to him, cool and distant as suddenly as her temper had flared. "What's it to you?"

"Just wondering." Jackson shrugged. "I'm Jack. This is Luke. I'm a Flame Sphinx, and he's a Sky Kitsune."

He did not ask for her name or style, and she regarded him with deep suspicion; it seemed to Luke that she understood that it was polite to offer hers in return but was struggling against some deep‑seated unwillingness. Jackson did not move, looking at her with a patience that Luke had not known his friend possessed, and at last she spat it out: "Dancella. Royal Dragon."

"Dancella?" Jackson smiled, and saw her draw in defensively, hands curling into fists. "No," he said quickly, "I mean, it's pretty. I like it."

She glared and for a moment Luke thought she might actually strike Jackson, but then she swept to her feet with such a sudden, smooth movement that Jackson stumbled back a step in surprise. "Fine," she said, "I will." And she turned and started up the steps again.

Luke and Jackson exchanged a glance. "You will what?" called Jackson after her.

She cast a glance over her shoulder that seemed to accuse them of being the densest people on the earth. "I'll _eat_ with you, you morons."

She disappeared into the Dragon dormitory and the boys looked at each other, Jackson smiling and Luke unsure, both rather bemused. Jackson heaved a sigh. "Come on, let's go find our classrooms so we don't get lost on Monday."

a

Students began trickling into White Hall not long after five, and by five forty‑five it was absolutely packed. Luke heard one of the upperclassmen telling a freshman—a younger sister, by the looks of it—that White Hall and the Quidditch stands were the only places on campus where the entire student body could gather all at once, and it made a very impressive sight. Every student wore his robes and identifying patch and excitement ran through the air like an electric current, touching everyone who entered the hall. Luke and Jackson found a table on the eastern side of the hall on the third tier from the bottom with several other freshmen, and no sooner had they sat than the chair on Luke's other side was filled; he had expected the enigmatic Dancella and was surprised to see one of the quintuplets. Noticing the mole high on her cheekbone, he remembered that this one was called Andi.

"Hi, Luke!" she said brightly, and there were dimples in her cheeks. "I'm supposed to be sitting with the others, but I figured—oh!"

She was staring at his chest. Luke glanced down at his Sky Kitsune patch, and then saw that the patch on the girl's robes was exactly the same. She looked up at him and her blue eyes blazed with delight. "You're a Sky Kitsune! That's wonderful! We'll have all our classes together! Will you sit by me?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess so."

"I'm so happy!" She clasped her hands together at her throat. Luke had never before seen anyone literally beam, but when Andi smiled her entire person seemed to glow. "Oh—who's this?"

Jackson was staring at the girl with his mouth hanging slightly open. "That's Jack Parker," said Luke. "I live with his family."

Jackson recovered himself and smiled, though his face was flushed. "Luke's my best friend."

It was the truth, of course, but somehow hearing it said aloud surprised Luke, and then he felt ridiculously pleased. "Andromeda Day," said the girl, shaking Jackson's hand with an air of maturity that suggested long practice in social situations. "But please, call me Andi! I haven't grown into Andromeda yet." She laughed, again proving that she had the prettiest laugh Luke had ever seen. Then she looked past Jackson and her smile brightened by several watts. "Oh, hello! Do you know Luke and Jack?"

Dancella stood there, her skin looking chalky and her hair even brighter against the dark grey of her robes. Jackson, who had not heard her approach, jumped to notice her standing so close. "Oh," he said, "Dancella, this is Andi. She's a Sky Kitsune, like Luke. Andi, that's Dancy."

"It's so nice to meet you," said Andromeda, glowing more brightly than ever, and held out a slim hand, but Dancella merely stared at her, ignoring the hand, lips pressed tightly. Caught in the middle, Luke and Jackson were very still, hoping that something would happen to rescue them from a very uncomfortable situation. And then something did: from the professor's loft a bell rang signaling the hour, and Andromeda withdrew her hand. "I have to go," she said, "we're all sitting together. My siblings and I, I mean. But I'll see you guys later!" She flashed a final smile and disappeared into the flurry of students heading for their seats.

Dancella flopped down into Andromeda's vacated seat, arms folded. "Where did you find that thing?" she hissed at Jackson.

"Oh," said Jackson, "she's not so bad."

"I think she's nice," said Luke, feeling a little defensive on Andromeda's behalf.

"Oh, _please_." Dancella seemed about to elaborate, but just then the voice of Gerald Zander rang out through the hall, obviously magically augmented as Cynthia Redding's had been in the field upon their arrival.

"Good evening, students!" he said cheerfully. Craning his neck, Luke could see the figure of the principal standing among the professors on the raised platform, arms outstretched, turning slowly to encompass the entire hall. "Welcome, welcome to another wonderful year at Emerald Hill. Are you happy to be here?"

The response was uproarious, so loud that Luke was momentarily stunned. "Well," said Zander, "that seems conclusive. I know you're all starving, but I have just a few announcements to make before dinner is served."

There was some groaning, but it was all good‑natured, and Luke got the impression that most of the school genuinely liked their principal.

"Firstly," went on Zander, "I'm proud to say that Emerald Hill's inter‑herald Quidditch team did tremendously well on the international circuit this summer, coming in sixth overall in the Junior International Championship Tournament."

Luke joined in the applause, excited to remember that there were Quidditch teams at Emerald Hill, and that one of his classes involved learning how to fly on a broom.

"Yes, congratulations to them. A credit to the school. Secondly, Doctor Arlene Platter has decided to step down as house‑mother of the Unicorn dormitory. Taking her place as house-father will be Doctor Charles January. Treat him well, Unicorns.

"Thirdly, as I'm sure you all know, the recent surge of Dark activity on the world stage has necessitated some changes in our school policy. Effective immediately, there are to be no unauthorized visits to Red River. We're going to be very strict about this. Any student caught beyond the campus grounds at any time without written permission from a professor will be put under lockdown for a month."

There was some outcry against this, but Zander was unrelenting. "Apparently you don't realize just how serious the situation has become. These measures are being taken for your safety, and we may well have to tighten security even further in the coming years. So be good little soldiers and bear with us.

"Anyway! That being said, you'll be happy to know that it is now time to eat. If you need anything in the coming weeks, don't hesitate to come up to my office." He turned and pointed to the enormous staircase on the northern side of the hall. "Curfew's at ten!" he added, and then without further ceremony took his seat, and Luke turned to the table, frowning because it was empty. "Where's the food?" he asked Jackson.

"There!" cried the other boy, grinning, and if his knees had not been firmly beneath the table Luke would have leaped to his feet as dozens—hundreds—of very small people appeared as though through the cracks in the floor tiles, bearing large platters, flatware, silverware, and napkins, and went about setting the tables with fluid ease. The tallest of them would hardly have reached Luke's waist, and their skin hung baggy on their narrow frames; enormous shining eyes bulged from their skulls above long noses, and their large flapping ears resembled those of bats. They were dressed in smart gray uniforms, all smiling brightly and greeting the students as they went about their work.

"House‑elves!" breathed Jackson in wonder, leaning closer to Luke as one of the creatures hopped onto the bench beside him to deal out plates like cards from a deck. "Dad's told me about them! They do all the work around the school."

A little shaken but interested, Luke watched the House‑elves set the tables; it was like a dance, each little team moving in perfect synchrony, and Luke saw that many of the upperclassmen were able to greet some of the elves by name. It was altogether a very entertaining and amiable display and by the time the lids were lifted from the platters Luke was in high spirits and ready to eat.

The welcome dinner consisted of more fried chicken than Luke had ever seen, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, bowls of steamed vegetables, and mountainous fruit salads. Luke had somehow not expected such familiar food and found it a great comfort, as did the other freshmen with whom they shared their table. Only Dancella did not seem to enjoy herself, nibbling morosely at vegetables and fruit.

When the food was gone, the gathering dissolved into happy conversation. Luke leaned his elbows on the table, listening to Jackson argue Quidditch tactics with the boy on his other side, and not even Dancella's moodiness could affect him. He wanted to go to see the Joining Glade that David had mentioned, but soon gave up on any motivation to move, watching the sunlight beyond the tall windows slant toward evening.

Outside, when they finally left, there were fireflies dancing along the paths and through the overgrown meadows, and with those golden twinkles below and the silver stars above, Luke, Jackson, and Dancella made their way back to the dormitories.

Dancella muttered something by way of farewell and disappeared into the Dragon dormitory. Luke was going to excuse himself to write a letter when suddenly he and Jackson were overcome by a wave of people, recognizable at once as the Day quintuplets and their older brother, Charon.

"Hey!" said Andromeda breathlessly, and in the lamplight of the courtyard Luke could only tell her from her siblings by the fact that she was the one addressing them. "These are my brothers and sisters! That's Charon—he's a sophomore, fourth-year. And this is Paris, and Theia, and Psyche, and Aristaeus." She pointed at the other quintuplets as she said the names, but all Luke absorbed was an impression of beauty and exuberance.

"I was hoping to get a picture of all of us," said Andromeda. "To send home to our parents."

"Oh!" said Luke. "Could I have a copy, too? I want to show my brother."

"Of course!" Andromeda looked enormously pleased at the notion. "Charon can take two, one for you. Would you like one, Jack?"

"Yeah!"

Andromeda smiled at her older brother. "Three, then, Charon?"

"Three," agreed the older boy, and held up a large, cumbersome‑looking camera. "Everyone smile!"

‑a

 _Dear Mark:_

 _I'm here at Emerald Hill! It's a really great place. There are statues everywhere that look like they could be alive. There's this circle of big statues with all the herald animals of Emerald Hill and everyone has to go through the circle and get chosen by one of the animals, and I'm a kitsune. That's sort of like a fox with a lot of tails. I love it here already! It's time for bed but I'll send this letter tomorrow with one of the school owls, since Jack's owl isn't big enough to fly yet. Here's a picture. These are my new friends. That's me and Jackson, and there beside me is a girl named Andi (I can't spell her real name) and those are her brothers and sisters with us. They're all really nice. See how the picture moves? All pictures move here, even the paintings. Andi's big brother took it with a special magic camera he got for his birthday. Anyway, our classes start on Monday and I'll write again sometime soon to tell you all about it._

 _Luke_

a

Luke tucked the letter beneath his pillow, to be sent the following day. The room was filled with the soft whispering sound of six boys breathing, a gentle white noise that made a very pleasant atmosphere for sleeping. But Luke lay awake for a time, listening, watching the blue‑checked curtains flutter in the warm August breeze and the tip of Grimalkin's tail twitch across the sheet as she slept.


	12. Chapter 12

There was a commotion in a corner of the Den when Luke descended in the morning, and he was somehow not surprised to hear a familiar voice at the center of it. Andromeda Day sat at one of the long tables, surrounded by other students of all ages, and was talking happily as she scribbled something on a piece of parchment. In one of her frequent glances around the group, her eyes swept across Luke and then fixed there, and he felt strangely honored, as well as embarrassed, when she smiled and immediately began packing her things; the other students watched as she crossed the Den to meet him, carrying an expensive-looking leather shoulder bag.

"Are you ready?" she asked, breathless with excitement. "Today we have Botany, History, Charms, and Transfiguration. Did you scout out the classrooms already? I did, with my family yesterday. The greenhouses are behind White Hall."

Several other freshmen had trailed along in her wake and Luke saw by their badges that they were also Sky Kitsunes, and so were to be his classmates. Andromeda's energy propelled them along, through the anteroom and out the front doors into the early morning sunshine. Botany was to begin at eight-o'clock, History of Magic was scheduled for ten, Charms for one-thirty in the afternoon, and Transfiguration for three. Each class was to last for only an hour, three times a week. On Tuesdays and Thursdays they were to have three classes, each lasting an hour and a half—Chemistry at eight, Strategy and Dueling at ten, and Beginning Flying at one. On Fridays the Sky Kitsunes had only one two-hour class, at ten: Life Studies.

He watched Andromeda wryly as they walked, for she talked constantly, and it seemed that the others, like Luke, couldn't help but be attentive. She had become immediately popular without apparent effort, and Luke had always felt a sort of helpless jealousy for people like that, though it was hard to hold anything against someone as cheerful and good-natured as Andromeda. She wasn't anything like her housemates, for Luke had discovered that most of the Kitsune students were like him, thoughtful and reticent, introverts, and that was the opposite of Andromeda's bright and effusive personality.

It was a warm morning and Luke felt uncomfortable in his robes, but bore them without complaint. He was nervous about his first class. Botany sounded simple enough—he had been a little disappointed to find that it was just the study of plants, expecting something more exotic, but now that class was about to begin, he wondered what sort of plants wizards would want to study. _There are magical animals in the world_ , he thought, _so are there magical plants, too?_

The group, which had grown since they left the dormitory as they fell in with other students heading for the greenhouses, mounted the steps of White Hall and crossed its marble floors, skirting the ground-level tier. On either side of the enormous staircase on the far side were large double-doors, which opened onto a meadow that looked like something out of a children's storybook.

There were four large greenhouses nestled into the grassy area between the back of White Hall and the nearly-vertical mountainside that rose to such a height above them that it made Luke dizzy to look up. There were no trees here, to allow plenty of sunlight to reach the greenhouses, and mirrors had been fastened to the rock wall behind them to reflect and augment the light when it was weaker during the winter. The greenhouses themselves were made of iron bars that appeared to have been twisted and fastened together at random, making for oddly-shaped panes of glass between them, some larger than Luke and others no larger than his hand. Dust and pollen and seeds on their fluffy parachutes danced in the still air, and climbing vines obscured the sides of the greenhouses, here and there having broken through the glass to explore the interiors. The glass was scrubbed clean on the tops of the greenhouses but on the sides was streaked and dirty, nearly opaque with moss and algae, so that Luke caught only glimpses of the activity inside.

Well-worn paths through the scrub and scraggly grass led to each of the greenhouses, and the Sky Kitsunes made their way to Greenhouse One, along with several Royal Unicorn students, with whom they would be sharing this class. The greenhouse door had an enormous, ancient-looking latch that was presently hanging open and Andromeda pushed through without hesitation, leaving the others to follow.

The air inside was humid and stuffy, but Luke hardly noticed, so fantastic were the sights. The floor was carpeted entirely in dark green vines as thick as a finger that everywhere sprouted tiny cup-shaped yellow flowers that opened and closed as though with a will; the long desks were solid, rough-hewn stone with sunken sinks, half-overgrown with moss and lichens; along the eastern wall stood a row of clay pots each sprouting a single flower on a single stalk, larger than Luke's head with waxy, translucent petals that gave off a heady aroma. But what most shocked Luke was at the northern end of the greenhouse—growing up between the vines were several mushrooms of truly gigantic proportions, and upon one of these was perched a small man, watching the students with interest. _Just like I imagined_ , he thought, staring.

There were no chairs and so the students filed in behind the rows of stone, some pulling out their Botany textbooks, all looking expectantly at the figure on the mushroom. At length the little man extended a long narrow finger and counted the students silently, and they must all have been present for then he stood, and his wispy white hair flew around his head like a cloud. The mushroom wobbled gently as he walked to its end and hopped to the floor, and he stood behind a boulder that was apparently to serve as his desk.

"I am Doctor Kelvin Danderben," he said in a high, reedy voice, and looked at them imperiously through gold-rimmed spectacles. "This is Botany I. You are freshmen students, and I am your professor. Throughout this year you will learn about the various magical plants in our world and their properties and uses. You will each need to purchase the following items from the school store: heavy gardening gloves. A trowel. Safety goggles. Earmuffs. A snorkel." He ticked off the items on his long fingers as he spoke, and the students scrambled for parchment and quills to make their lists.

"Um," said one of the Unicorn students, "mister...I mean Doctor, Danderben...why a snorkel, sir?"

The man looked surprised. "We have a pond, do we not? Do you think it's there for decoration? There are cultures, my boy, carefully tended! We'll examine them all. Now, as I was saying...snorkels. Aprons. There's a lot of hands-on work on this class, and you'll not be required to wear your robes while inside the greenhouse. Too messy."

They spent the rest of the class discussing what magical plants the students could think of; Luke had not heard of any of them, but listened intently and took careful notes. Flipping through the textbook, he was stunned at the sheer profusion of plants with magical properties. Some of them were plants that he knew, that would be perfectly ordinary in the hands of a Muggle but could be used by a wizard to accomplish wonderful things, and others were things he had not even imagined. There were plants to be used as medicines and plants to be used in potions, plants to ward off certain creatures and plants that were active guardians, bug-catching plants and mice-catching plants, sentient plants that made quite decent neighbors, plants to eat and plants to wear, plants that grew as slowly as glaciers and plants that could swallow a house overnight, plants that sang in the moonlight and plants that made one amphibious for a time. It was fascinating. Doctor Danderben was a gruff man but clearly passionate about his work, and enjoyed the questions of his students that showed they were taking an interest.

The students emerged from the greenhouse damp from the humidity but exhilarated. There was an hour break before their next class and so the Sky Kitsunes went _en masse_ to the school store, a brick building on the western edge of campus, to purchase the items the professor had listed for them. There were indeed snorkels available—something about which there had been some concern among the students—and a great variety of garden gloves and aprons from which to choose. Luke was not picky, but Andromeda spent nearly fifteen minutes deciding between different gloves.

The group ate a brief breakfast together in White Hall, and Luke was becoming more relaxed around them. He liked the fact that they would be a constant in his life, sharing all of his classes until they reached the upper years and started taking more specialized courses. _Like Arithmancy_ , he reminded himself. _What could that be? Sounds sort of like arithmetic…but how can math be magical?_ The very idea was strangely thrilling, that there were magical components to all of the mundane things he had known as a Muggle.

 _No_ , he had to remind himself. _I was never a Muggle._

Their next class was History at ten, which was held in one of the mountainside classrooms at the end of White Hall's western wing. It was built like any classroom Luke had known in his previous schools, but there were no windows, and one wall was the solid rock of the mountain. It was cooler there and they had actual desks, old and well-worn, and the teacher stood at a chalkboard. To Luke's surprise the History teacher was a young man with bright eyes, named Gregory Finnegan. He handed out rolls of parchment on which were written what he called a _syllabus_ —"Basically, all the stuff we'll be talking about this year," he told them with a grin.

Luke glanced over the list, which was constructed like an outline, and saw words like _goblin rebellion_ and _post-Druidal era_ and _witch burnings_ , and realized with a jolt that this was a history of _magic_.

Doctor Finnegan had an energetic manner and a smile that put the students at ease. He told them there would be a research project involved with the curriculum, but they would have the entire year to complete it. "And I have to say this," he added. "This project isn't the kind of thing you should leave till the last minute. Believe me, I can tell the difference between someone who started in December and someone who threw it together in the last week of classes. So I'll be requiring a list of partners and potential topics by the midpoint of the semester—around the middle of October. Keep it in the back of your minds."

In the margin of his curriculum, Luke wrote carefully, _a history of muggle-wizard relations_. Andromeda, sitting beside him, noticed this and gave him an encouraging smile, and then leaned over to write beneath this: _partners?_ Luke pretended to consider for a moment, which made Andromeda giggle silently, but of course he agreed.

"Oh!" cried Finnegan as the students were gathering their things at the end of class. "I almost forgot to mention—I'm also Emerald Hill's Quidditch coach. Unfortunately you can't try out for the J.V. team until your second term, but I expect to see you all at the games, regardless."

"What's J.V.?" Luke asked David Cavanaugh as they left the classroom.

"Junior Varsity," David replied at once, smiling. "First thing next term, I'm definitely trying out. My sister's taught me a few things on her broom already."

Luke felt a surge of impatience, knowing that his first Beginning Flying class was not until afternoon of the next day.

With two and a half hours until their final class of the day, and not yet being hungry again, Luke and Andromeda found their way to the Joining Glade, where he had promised to meet Jackson. The other boy was already there when they arrived, and Luke laughed aloud to see him—Jackson was standing on the back of the statue of a gryphon in mid-flight, and had pulled up one of the vines twining up its legs to use as a bridle as though he were standing on the creature as it flew. He had one arm thrown above his head and was whooping at the top of his voice, and when he saw Luke he waved wildly.

"Luke!" he shouted across the meadow. "Isn't this place the best?"

Luke was inclined to agree. The large clearing was filled with life-sized statues of Emerald Hill's heraldic animals, built to appear to be interacting with one another, and the effect was stunning. A unicorn leaped playfully over the back of a reclining sphinx which batted a huge paw lazily in its direction; a dragon looked in annoyance at the kitsunes darting between its legs; a mother gryphon watching over her clutch of eggs screeched a warning to a nearby phoenix. They were everywhere, each animal represented several times, and though the relationships between them seemed somewhat tense, the students scattered among the meadow were at ease.

"They're so beautiful," breathed Andromeda, kneeling beside a kitsune to stroke its stone fur.

"Are they sculpted by magic?" asked Luke, running a hand over the scales of a dragon's leg. "They look so real."

Andromeda shook her head. "Using magic to sculpt is considered cheating," she told him. "They think it reduces the art, or something. You can't submit a piece unless it's checked a hundred times for any sort of tampering. But once it's accepted, you can put charms on it to preserve it, so it doesn't fall apart or wear down."

Luke was surprised. "Where'd you learn all that?"

Andromeda blushed. "I draw a little," she admitted. "I'm not much good at sculpting, though. But it's interesting."

Jackson came dashing over to them, his face red with excitement. "Luke!" he yelled, more loudly than necessary, "Andi! Guess what!"

"You have twelve toes?" guessed Andromeda.

"Uh, you lost a bet and have to walk around naked all day tomorrow?" put in Luke.

"Nope!" Jackson ignored the sallies. "I had Beginning Flying this morning, and _I'm good at it!_ "

This set off a discussion about what it was like to actually sit on a broom, how you made it fly, whether it was hard to keep one's balance in the air, and so on. They made their way to lunch still talking, talked through the taco salad and bean dip, and talked right up to their separation for afternoon classes. Jackson was off to his first session of Botany, and Luke and Andromeda were heading for Charms.

Charms was held in a ground-level classroom in White Hall just outside the mountain, a large airy room with a high ceiling. Their teacher was straightening files on her desk when they entered, and she looked up with a slow smile, which Luke returned shyly; he had never had an African-American teacher before. She had dark eyes and hair done all in tiny braids, gathered into a thick ponytail that hung down her back. She introduced herself as Doctor Meribell Plemmons and struck Luke as a quiet, gentle person. _Maybe she was a Kitsune when she went here_ , he thought.

"In my experience," said Plemmons after making sure they all had their textbooks, "you can only learn so much about Charms from studying. You could read all day about a certain wand movement, but how do you truly know how to move the wand until you try it yourself? This is my approach to the class. We will not spend our class time reading passages from the book—that will be your homework. While you are here, you will learn by doing."

And she proceeded to teach them the basics of their first Charm. Luke was excited to learn that it was the same charm, in a less powerful form, that Doctor Lunsford had used to lift him from the floor the night that he and Jackson had held the dowsing stones. It was called Light Levitation, and was accomplished by both a certain wand movement and an incantation that had to be said just so. The students were all enthusiastic to pull out their wands—especially the Sky Kitsunes, who had had no such excuse yet that day—and attempted to Levitate bits of braided yarn. Only a few had some success, including Luke, who to his overwhelming delight was able (after overcoming self-consciousness about saying the incantation) to raise his bit of yarn several inches into the air and hold it there for a few seconds. Plemmons praised his efforts but Luke hardly heard her; he was too busy enjoying the triumphant fanfare in his head.

Transfiguration, which the Sky Kitsunes were to have with the Gold Gryphons, was also held in a classroom, on the third story of the east wing of White Hall, and its several tall windows filled the room with bright light. There were long tables facing a desk at the front, and the walls were lined with shelves filled, alongside hundreds of books, with seemingly random objects: teapots, a large cage of white mice, old sneakers, colored glass bottles, display cases of insects, toothbrushes, extension cords, a jar of peach pits.

Their teacher did not appear for a few moments, and the students flipped through their textbooks and wondered aloud what would be the first thing they would try to transfigure, all the while keeping one eye on the classroom's second door, which was marked with a brass plaque as being the professor's office. _Dr A. J. Yancey_ , it read, _Beginning and Intermediate Transfiguration_.

When at last the door opened they all looked up expectantly, but Luke's mouth fell open, for he recognized the woman—she had black hair and dark eyes and the same pleasant smile he remembered from the terrifying experience he and Jackson had had on the streets of New York City. She did not appear to notice him, but greeted the class in her low, melodic voice. "I am Doctor Alice Yancey," she said. "Welcome to Transfiguration. This was always my favorite subject in school, and I hope you'll all come to enjoy it as well. Now, to begin, let's call the roll to make sure we're all here."

She read the names carefully, accepting with grace any corrections in pronunciation, pausing to glance at each student before reading the next name. When she looked at Luke her eyes lingered a little longer, and one of her eyebrows twitched upward. Luke was somehow relieved that she remembered him.

When the roll was done she put down her clipboard and leaned against the front of her desk, tapping a long wand idly against her leg. "Can anyone tell me what Transfiguration is?" she asked.

Several students raised their hands and she nodded at one, a girl in the front row. "It's the magic of changing something to something else," said the girl.

"That's precisely right," said Yancey. "As you might guess, it's a very complicated branch of magic, and there's a lot that can go wrong. For instance, suppose that I were to change this desk into a lion."

She swept her wand and suddenly her desk _was_ a lion, massive and alive with twitching tail, looking around as though curious as to how he had gotten there. The students gasped and several rose nervously to their feet, but Yancey continued to lean against the lion, unperturbed. "If something went wrong and the desk got stuck halfway to being a lion, you'd have one strange and entirely _unuseful_ result…as well as trouble with the ASPCA." Many students got the joke and grinned. "Therefore," the woman continued, and changed the lion back to her desk with another sweep-and-tap of her wand, "Transfiguration requires a lot of discipline, which, unfortunately for you, means a lot of studying."

There were some groans but she waved them away with a smile. "An expert Transfiguror can change almost anything into almost anything. It all has to do with understanding the properties of a thing, how it's made and why it acts the way that it does, and knowing the spells to tell it how to act differently." She glanced at the clipboard (which had miraculously kept its place on the desk). "Henrietta Stone, will you please bring me one of those shoes?"

Henrietta, another Sky Kitsune, stood and moved self-consciously to the shelves, retrieving one of the battered old sneakers and handing it to the professor. "Thank you, Henrietta," said Yancey with a gracious smile, and then held up the sneaker for all to see. "Look carefully at this shoe," she said, "and tell me everything you observe about it. Go ahead, call it out."

"It's old." said one student.

"It's a boy's."

"The lace is broken."

"It's made of leather."

"And rubber!"

Yancey was nodding. "Very good. Now, how does it act when I touch it?" She pressed her fingers against the soft side of the shoe, and they moved it.

"It bends," said Luke, and Yancey tipped a finger in his direction.

"Exactly! It's pliable, not stiff—I can bend it all over the place." She demonstrated. "It's flexible. But suppose I wanted to turn this shoe into a shoe-shaped stone. What is a stone like?"

"It's hard."

"And rough."

"It doesn't bend."

"Just so," said Yancey. "To turn this shoe into a stone, I have to tell the stuff it's made of to act differently. I have to tell its particles to be particles of stone, not of leather and rubber and cloth. The spells we use in Transfiguration aren't really commands…they're more like instructions. I have to teach the particles of this shoe how to be stone."

She held it up on her fingertips and moved the wand again, pursing her lips, and then the shoe was made of stone, as though someone had carved it meticulously. Yancey rapped on it with her knuckles to prove its solidity and passed it around the classroom so that everyone could examine it. Luke turned it over in his hands; it was heavy and quite hard—not just a shoe that acted like stone, but a real stone.

"As you can see, Transfiguration isn't illusion—it's not about making something _look_ like something it's not. Transfiguring literally changes one thing into another. My desk, a moment ago, was not just a lion-shaped desk, it was truly a lion. Do you see why Transfiguration is so complicated?"

Luke nodded along with the rest. He was fascinated.

"Now, like any subject, some of you will be better at Transfiguration than others—just like some students are more natural flyers, or others take immediately to the formulas of Chemistry. Transfiguration requires a certain mindset. You have to be able to imagine what you want to do, and feel it happening. This is easy for some, and more difficult for others. But, like any subject, all of you are capable of learning Transfiguration if you put your mind to it, just like any witch or wizard can learn to handle a broom or memorize formulas. So if you find this class difficult at first, just keep at it. There are several upperclassmen who hold tutoring sessions, so I would suggest that anyone who struggles take advantage of that. And, of course, I'll always be here to help."

At the end of class she handed out their first assignment—a ballpoint pen for each student. "Think about this pen," she told them, "and write down everything you know about it, absolutely everything. Think about why it is the way that it is, what it's made of and how those components act in this world. Then I want you to think about a pencil. Write down everything you know about a pencil, the same you did for the pen. On Wednesday we'll talk about how to go about teaching a pen to be a pencil."

"What do you think?" asked Andromeda as they headed toward the stairwell and the exit.

"I loved it," said Luke honestly. He was still looking at the pen he had been given, turning it in his hands, wondering about the particles that made it. "It's my favorite so far."

"Not mine. I liked Charms. It feels like _real_ magic, you know? Real spells."

All in all it was a very successful and satisfying day. During the time left before dinner, Luke worked on his list about the pen while Andromeda read from her Charms textbook, and Jackson found them in White Hall. "What a day!" he announced, and sat down heavily. "I had Charms, Beginning Flying, Botany, and Strategy and Dueling. Tomorrow we finally have a class together!"

"Do you have Transfiguration tomorrow?" asked Luke.

"Yeah, right before lunch. Why?"

"You'll never guess who my teacher is."

Jackson was duly surprised to find that their rescuer was an Emerald Hill professor, and disappointed that his Transfiguration class had a different teacher. "What's her name?" he asked, and Luke told him. "If I see her, I'm gonna say hi like we're old pals. You don't think she'd get mad, right?"

"No way. She's nice."

"Good. Anyway, it'll really knock old Chester for a loop. Have you met Chester? He's one of my roommates."

"What were you doing in New York?" asked Andromeda. "Out on the streets, I mean. That's so dangerous!"

"We just wanted to mail a letter," said Jackson dismissively. "To Luke's big brother. Now, Chester—"

"You were Muggle-raised, right?" Andromeda was looking very carefully at Luke. "Your brother isn't a wizard?"

"No, he's a Muggle. He lives in North Carolina." Luke shifted uneasily under her stare. "What?"

"What do you write him letters about?"

"I dunno, stuff."

"Like _this_ stuff? Emerald Hill stuff?"

"Yeah, of course. He's my brother, Andi."

"How old is he?"

"Twenty. He—"

"And your parents?"

"They're dead, okay? What's the big deal?" Luke was growing defensive, and a little nervous, under her solemn scrutiny.

Andromeda sat back, folding her arms. "Luke, if you're the only wizard in your family, you're probably not supposed to tell him about this stuff. It's a security risk. My dad works for the Admin, you know, and there's all sorts of stuff we can't say to Muggle relatives these days. They're not even supposed to know where Red River is."

"But why not?"

"Because of You-Know-Who," she said simply—and, to Luke's mind, absurdly. "The Death Eaters. They could find your brother and torture him to make him tell them everything he knows—"

"What?" Luke held up a hand. "I don't get it. Who's You-Know-Who? _I_ don't know who."

Both Andromeda and Jackson stared at him, and then Jackson nodded. "I keep forgetting you don't know," he said.

"You don't?"

They all looked up at the new voice and Luke recognized Charon Day, Andromeda's older brother, who had been walking past. "You don't know about the Dark Lord?" he said, looking hard at Luke, who shook his head. He was starting to be frightened. With a sigh, Charon sat beside Jackson.

"You-Know-Who's a wizard. I mean, we think he is. But he's bad. Like, the worst there is. Serial killer. He hates organized magic, wants to destroy it and take over the world, or something… We're not completely sure what he wants, but it's nothing good. He's full of hate, and he's _dangerous_."

Luke was ready to scoff, but neither Andromeda nor Jackson were smiling. "It's true, Luke," said Charon. "Remember what Principal Zander said about Dark activity, why we can't go to Red River without a teacher? It's because Emerald Hill might be a target. These are _very bad people_. They go after magic officials, people in the government, but they use whoever they can to get to them. Relatives, friends, co-workers. They torture and kill. This is for real. That's why we have a class called Strategy and Dueling—it's exactly what it sounds like. It teaches us how to defend ourselves if we're ever under attack."

Luke was quiet, stunned. _Everything involves magic_ , he thought, _and everything can be good or bad. If you can heal people with magic, you can kill them with magic._

And on the heels of this: _Oh, what have I gotten myself into?_


	13. Chapter 13

_Dear Mark:_

 _I don't think I can write to you anymore. It turns out that there's a bad side of magic, and there's this guy called the Dark Lord who might attack our school. I'm not supposed to be telling you any of this, but I thought you might want to know. It might be dangerous. I hope I don't get you in trouble by writing these letters. If the government (I mean the magical government) found out I told you all this stuff,_ _I_ _could be in really big trouble. This is serious. Please don't be mad at me, but you might want to be careful._

 _I miss you. Jack says hi._

 _Luke_

Jackson went with him to the owlry. The Great Grey Owl chick, still unnamed, was there, in a nest below its assigned perch but eyeing the perch with interest. Jackson tossed it a few dead mice he had bought at the pet supplies shop that abutted the school store, which it swallowed with gusto. Since the chick could not yet fly they had to use one of the school owls, and Luke chose the one he thought would be least intimidating to his brother, tying the letter carefully to its leg.

"Be nice to him, okay?" he told the owl before letting it fly, and he watched it until it had disappeared eastward over the rim of the valley.

"Does he ever write back?" asked Jackson from behind him.

Luke shook his head slowly. "Nope."

Chemistry was at eight-o'clock in the morning. Luke and Andi made their way through the western wing of White Hall to the doors at its end, which led up to the mountainside classrooms and down to the tunnel classrooms. An upperclassman had told them that the Chemistry labs had to be in the tunnels so that they could be sealed off if any reaction went bad, which Luke only half-believed. Unlike the mountainside classrooms, which looked like any building except without windows, these corridors and classrooms were actual tunnels, with walls and ceiling of carved rock and cobbled stone floors, lit by torches in the walls that reminded Luke of a Medieval dungeon.

He had forgotten that Heath Lunsford was his Chemistry teacher until they entered the classroom and saw him there, his robes exchanged for a neat white lab coat. He smiled at Luke and gave a little wave, which Luke appreciated, and he and Andromeda found seats at the front of the room, behind long black tables with sunken sinks. But he saved a seat on his other side, and within moments Jackson had plunked down into it. They shared a grin; Lunsford would not admit it, but they were sure he had deliberately juggled his schedule to have them both in his class together.

When all the students had filed in and found seats, Lunsford pushed his safety goggles up onto his forehead and smiled again, and Luke heard several students suck in their breaths quietly as they saw his scar for the first time. "Welcome to Beginning Chemistry," he said in his careful voice. "My name is Doctor Lunsford. I trust you've all brought your kits?"

Luke, along with the rest, hauled the briefcase-sized kit onto the table in front of him. He had opened it immediately upon purchase and had been astounded by the gleaming glass tubes and beakers of all shapes and sizes, tongs of various sizes, an old-fashioned mortar and pestle (of which he knew the names from his history class the previous year in his Muggle school, and was proud).

"Good," said Lunsford. "Let's go over its components and figure out what each one is, shall we?"

This took up most of the class. Lunsford, asserting that Chemistry was a strictly physical science used to bring about magical reactions, demonstrated the use of such Muggle instruments as a Bunsen burner and centrifuge. "This is a very old science," he told them, "and even Muggles could do it, if they had the right ingredients. There's nothing magical about the process itself, only in the results that it produces."

Luke found this appealing. There were, of course, potions that would require certain incantations to reach full potency, and the vast majority of the formulas required magical ingredients, but the idea that no magic at all could produce magical results made Luke feel more confident. Despite his success with levitation the previous day, he was still nervous about performing real magic.

He and Jackson approached the desk after class, with Andromeda following curiously behind, and greeted Lunsford. "Well, Jack, Lucas," said the man, "how was your first day of classes?"

" _Great!_ " shouted Jackson.

"It really was," Luke said with feeling. "I like Transfiguration best."

"I'm not surprised. Kitsunes and Unicorns in particular seem to do well with the intuitive nature of Transfiguration." Lunsford smiled again, and then turned to Andromeda. "Another Miss Day. The only one I haven't met yet is Andromeda, so that must be you."

Andromeda shook his hand, appearing, strangely, rather shy. "Do you like working down here?" she asked. "It's so dark."

Lunsford gave a little shrug. "I like working with the potions, and this is where the potions must be. I know it's not very cheerful, but that doesn't mean we can't enjoy ourselves. What do you three have for the rest of the day?"

"We have Strategy and Beginning Flying," said Luke. "I can't wait to try a broom."

"Well, I've got Transfiguration and History," said Jackson. "Bet I can do Transfiguration better than you, Luke."

Luke elbowed him. "You're on."

As they parted ways with Jackson on their way to their next class, Andromeda was smiling. "He's so strange," she said.

"Jack? A little, I guess."

"No, silly. Doctor Lunsford."

"What do you mean?" Lunsford seemed perfectly normal to Luke, aside from the scar.

"I don't know. Don't you think he's sad? He seems sad to me."

Luke pondered this, but shook his head. "He's fine."

There was an entire building dedicated to Strategy and Dueling, between White Hall and the Coulter Building (where most of the smaller, specialized classes were held). It was called Bastion—or, more commonly, _the_ Bastion—and there was one floor dedicated to each year of study, four of those stories being underground. The first-term students were on the uppermost floor, which to Luke's surprise was divided into only two rooms: a very large space in which their classes were to be conducted, and a sectioned-off area in one corner that served as an office for the professor. There were very few windows. The floor was half carpet and half tile, and there were gym mattresses stacked against one wall and an odd-looking platform in the center of the tiled area.

"Leave your things there," said a voice, and a man came striding across the room. He was pointing to the wall beside the door, and there they saw hooks and cubbies. The students did as instructed and approached the man in a cautious group, toward the center of the large open floor. As they walked, Luke saw with some surprise that the girl Dancella was among them—apparently the Royal Dragon students were sharing this class with the Sky Kitsunes. She glanced his way and Luke started to wave, but she looked away again just as quickly.

Their Strategy teacher was tall and severe-looking, at sharp contrast with his shock of carrot-colored hair, and he tapped his wand against his other palm in a slow, vaguely menacing rhythm. "Abernathy," he said by way of introduction. "This is where your real instruction begins.

"This is the important part. All that other stuff, what they teach you there—" he took in the rest of Emerald Hill with the sweep of an arm—"means nothing when you're face-to-face with a Death Eater. They're out there, and if you give 'em the chance, they'll take you down. Do you know what that means?" He glared at them for a moment. "It means you'd better know how to take care of yourself, that's what it means."

He made them practice their stances, which Luke discovered was how to hold one's wand, ready for attack and defense. He showed them ways to stand more steadily, and took them over to the strange platform, which turned out to be on hydraulic springs that he could make to tilt this way and that, and had each student stand on it and keep a flashlight pointed at a certain place on the wall to see how well they could hold a target on unsteady terrain.

"There are thousands of hexes," he told them near the end of class, "and there are a select few that we actually teach to our students here. The Administration is of the opinion that the best defense is a good offense, as they say." He smiled without humor. "There are more basics we need to learn first, but I want everyone to start researching the Disarming Hex. I'll demonstrate. You!" he said imperiously, and the boy he pointed at stepped forward. "Hold out your wand. Stance!"

The boy took up the stance they had been taught, visibly concentrating on his balance. Abernathy took on the same stance, but with a quick, fluid grace that Luke would not have expected from his lanky angular body. Then, without warning: " _Expelliarmus!_ " he cried with a snap of his wand, and with the sound of a sharp _crack!_ the boy's wand flew from his hand, tumbling across the floor.

As the boy trotted to retrieve his wand, Abernathy replaced his own in the sleeve of his robes and addressed the class once more. "By Christmas, you'll all be performing that hex flawlessly. That's not a promise—that's an order. But to begin, read up on it. There's plenty in your textbook to keep you occupied till Thursday."

Andromeda's face was alight as they exited the building. "It's so exciting!" she said, actually turning a pirouette on the brick walk. "I'm so glad they have that class, aren't you? We'll learn so many useful things."

Luke nodded; he, too, was genuinely glad that such a class was both available and taken so seriously by the staff. He had been shaken to the core by the revelation of the existence of a Dark Lord, and resolved to put a lot of effort into his Strategy classes. When he thought of this, he thought of his brother.

At lunch in White Hall they met up with Jackson, and then, to pass the time until their afternoon class, the three of them wandered toward the Quidditch field. Luke had previously only seen it from above and was stunned, once upon it, to realize the sheer size of it—twice or more the size of a football field, the grass carefully shorn but with no painted lines, only the rearing pegasus sigil of Emerald Hill in the exact center. There were students scattered throughout the stands, studying or talking or just relaxing, and as he looked up at the fifty-foot-high golden goal hoops, Luke imagined, with a thrill in his stomach, what it would be like to soar through the air above that field, crossing it in a flash with the crowd roaring.

"I want to be a Seeker," said Jackson as they sat on the sunny grass. "I'm small, so I could be really fast, and Seekers need to be fast. What about you, Luke?"

"Keeper," he said at once. "I want to be able to sit back and see everything, to guard the goals. I don't know if I'll be quick enough to block, though."

"Well, maybe not yet," said Andromeda with a smile, "but you're only eleven. By the time you're old enough for Varsity, you'll be able to handle those goals, no problem."

Luke looked speculatively up at the five-foot-diameter hoops high above them. "I hope so. How do they set it up for the Junior Varsity games?"

"Easy," said Jackson. "They just lower the posts and move them in a bit. It's supposed to keep us from flying too fast or too high before we get really good." He was talking as though they had already reached their second year and made the Junior Varsity team, which made Luke smile.

Eventually, the time finally arrived for Beginning Flying. Jackson headed off for his final class of the day, which was History of Magic. Since Flying class was to be held on the field, Luke and Andromeda simply waited there for the rest of their class to arrive, which they soon did, most of them in a group following a small woman, who with the help of an upper-term assistant was hauling brooms onto the field from the locker room beneath the stands where they were kept between classes. The freshmen watched eagerly as the woman and her assistant set the brooms out on the grass in two long lines, and then the woman looked at them with a bright smile. She wore silver bracelets on her wrists that jingled musically.

"Hello!" she called, and the students responded. "My name is Michelle Finnegan. By now you may have met my husband, Gregory Finnegan."

"Aww!" whispered Andromeda, charmed.

"He's the Quidditch coach here at Emerald Hill, and I am the Quidditch instructor. You'll be taking classes with me through your third year, and longer if you so desire. As you may or may not know, I was a Chaser with the Stars and Stripes, America's national Quidditch team, for several years until my injury."

She lifted the hem of her robes and Luke was shocked to see that she had a wooden leg. "I was in a car accident while driving to visit my grandparents—they're Muggles, obviously—and unfortunately I was taken to a Muggle hospital, where all they could do for me was to amputate my leg. They saved my life, but I'm no longer eligible to play on the professional circuit. However, I still know pretty much everything there is to know about flying a broom, and if you're willing, I'll share that knowledge."

Luke added his voice to the enthusiastic reply, and the students fanned out so that each was standing beside one of the brooms on the grass. Luke looked down at the one that had fallen to him; it looked quite ordinary, laying there as if pretending very hard that it did not have the potential to carry him through the air.

Michelle Finnegan instructed them to hold their wand hands out over the brooms (Luke stepped to the other side of his so as to hold out his left hand) and command them, _Up!_ It sounded ridiculously simple, and so Luke was amazed when his broom popped up from the ground, hesitated for a moment in the air, and then floated almost lazily into his hand. It seemed to struggle for a moment, as if it would have liked to keep rising, and then was quiet. Luke's heart was beating very fast. It took some of the others several tries to command their brooms into the air—"You have to _mean_ it!" Mrs Finnegan told them again and again—but at last they were told to sit upon them.

"This line first," she said, indicating Luke's line, and following her example, he swung one leg over the broom so that he was standing over it as it hovered.

"Now, what you'll want to do is just give a little kick. You don't want to jump into the air—just kick forward and up, and concentrate on staying a few feet above the ground. Like so." Mrs Finnegan demonstrated the proper kick several times, and it was terribly exciting to see her sitting comfortably on a broom in midair, and guiding it to the ground again with subtle motions that Luke could not see. Five at a time, she had them try the kick, and left them hovering happily as she moved on to the next five. When the time came Luke did not allow himself to think but gave precisely the kick he had calculated in his head, and felt a curious swooping sensation in his stomach as he did not fall back to the ground as gravity would dictate, but remained in the air, his toes dangling a foot above the grass. Andromeda, too, had succeeded, and they exchanged delighted grins.

As Mrs Finnegan moved on, fantasies ran through Luke's mind. He was the Keeper for the Stars and Stripes, patrolling his hoops high in the air and watching the game with a shrewd eye, dodging Bludgers with expert ease and guiding his broom by instinct alone. The opposing team's Chasers were approaching—they had the Quaffle, and if they scored, the Stars and Stripes would be too far behind to win even if they caught the Snitch. Luke leaned forward, every nerve jangling, his broom polished and gleaming and ready to move on the instant to block the goal. The Chaser approached in a sweeping parabola, Quaffle held high, and—

" _Luke!_ "

He came to himself with a jolt, and his stomach pitched sickeningly as he saw that the field was now fifteen feet below his feet. "Get down," Andromeda was saying as loudly as she dared. "You'll get in trouble!"

But try as he might, the broom would do nothing for Luke but continue to glide upward and slightly forward, an almost dreamy motion, completely oblivious to Luke's hissed commands and efforts to turn or halt it. Andromeda's stricken face was getting smaller and smaller and now everyone was staring, and Luke began to feel dizzy. The grass blurred and the shouts grew hazy and he clutched his broom tightly, terrified and nauseated and struggling to hold onto a reality that had suddenly become slippery.

"Luke—it's Luke, right?"

He managed to focus on Mrs Finnegan, who was flying beside him, completely at ease. She wore a reassuring smile. "Come on, sit up. Grip the broom in front of you with both hands—that's right—and lean forward."

He tried, but nothing happened, and Mrs Finnegan frowned. "Like you _mean_ it, boy!" Again Luke leaned forward, pushing on the front of the broom, but it continued its slow steady ascent. Mrs Finnegan reached over and pushed on the broom herself, then shook it slightly. "Hm," she said, "malfunctioning. All right, hop over here and I'll carry you down."

"What?" They were very high now, well above the goal posts, and the thought of 'hopping' from one broom to another made every organ in Luke's body clench. Every time he glanced down he started feeling dizzy again. He tried to keep his eyes on Mrs Finnegan's face. She held out a hand and he took it, gripping so hard that his knuckles turned white, but she made no comment, guiding her broom very close to his. "Just swing your leg over mine, too," she told him, and he tried, but as he did he looked down between the two brooms and felt vomit rising in his throat, and the dizziness overcame him.

For a moment her grip held and the weight of him spun her upside-down in the air, but they were both unprepared and Luke's hand, in a horrifying instant that he would remember for the rest of his life, slipped out of hers. She dwindled above him with shocking speed but then she was gone, a flash of motion, and Luke's robes were whipping around so loudly that he could make no sense of the situation except for a vague sense of danger, and then there was a great impact and the wind was knocked out of him.

As he gasped and struggled for breath he became aware of cheers, and his eyes slowly focused on his classmates clapping and shouting. There was a sinking feeling, like an elevator going down, and then suddenly Luke felt that he had weight again. He was sitting on the grass and Mrs Finnegan was kneeling beside him, still smiling but clearly shaken.

"Luke! Luke!" Andromeda almost fell on top of him, so anxious was she to hug him. "Are you alright? What happened? You just…fell!"

"I couldn't see," said Luke slowly, troubled by his roiling stomach. "I feel a little sick."

"Vertigo," said Mrs Finnegan wisely. "You're just a little acrophobic, Luke—you don't do well with heights. Don't worry, we can work on that. It's just unlucky that you ended up with a bad broom. We test them all the time, but it looks like this one just cracked."

Luke looked up and saw a tiny speck against the sky, his broom still on its heavenward journey. Mrs Finnegan's assistant was sent to retrieve it, which he could only manage with some difficulty, as it kept wanting to drift upward. With a flick of her wand Mrs Finnegan snapped the broom's handle in two and it lay in pieces on the grass, finally at rest.

"She caught him. It was amazing—you should see the way she can really fly, Jack! Like she didn't have to think about it at all, she just _zoomed_ and she was so fast you could hardly see her!"

The others were mesmerized, their eyes large (and Jackson's positively enormous) as they listened to Andromeda's tale. "Wow," said Paris. "Well, she was a Chaser, so she'd have to know all sorts of tricks like that. I guess it's like catching a falling Quaffle."

He grinned at Luke, but Luke, hours later, was still feeling slightly queasy and could only grimace. He, Andromeda, Jackson, and several of Andromeda's siblings were sitting on the grass in an overgrown courtyard near the pond; Theia, who had accosted Luke outside the Heart Ring, was feeding Luke crackers at intervals, insisting they would calm his stomach.

"Well," said Andromeda, "he hardly fell at all before she grabbed him. It was really scary, but with her there he wasn't really in trouble at all. Gosh, I've never seen a professional player fly before."

"That's gonna be me someday," declared Jackson loudly. "I'll be a world-famous Seeker, you'll see! I'll know all the tricks and no Bludger will ever, ever be able to touch me. I'll be the best there ever was!"

Imagining this made Luke smile, and that made him feel somewhat better. But he could not shake a feeling that was more than nausea—it was foreboding. _You don't do well with heights_ , Mrs Finnegan had said, and the very thought of climbing back on a broom made Luke start to feel dizzy all over again. _How can I play Quidditch if I'm afraid of heights?_ he wondered miserably.

He sighed and refocused his attention on the conversation, and saw Andromeda smiling at him gently as though she had heard his thoughts. "It was your first time on a broom," she whispered. "It'll get easier."

Luke was unconvinced.

The week continued and Luke found himself not only willing to go to class, but eager. Every day brought new knowledge that he would never have dreamed existed, and everything seemed strange and exciting. His favorite class continued to be Transfiguration; by the end of the week they had still not taken wands to their pens, but Luke was endlessly fascinated by the diagrams of molecules that Doctor Yancey drew on the chalkboard and the mental exercises she put them through. "Don't get too specific," she told them, turning from an absurdly complicated diagram she had just drawn, replete with arrows. "Transfiguration has more to do with imagination than science. These are just examples, to give you an idea of what we're trying to achieve. When you actually transfigure something, it works much, much better to just _feel_ what you want to do. Absorb the concepts, not the specifics."

Strategy and Dueling was also intriguing. That first Thursday, Mr Abernathy brought in a group of sixth-year juniors to demonstrate real wizarding duels, which were both frightening and wondrous. Words were hurled like weapons and flashes of colored light streaked from wandtips; students dodged or fell, their robes singed and smoking. There was no real danger involved, of course, for Abernathy had restricted the hexes available for their use and supervised closely, but the look on his face as he watched the students duel was a look of great satisfaction. _That's what he wants us to be able to do_ , Luke thought as he watched the juniors. _He's going to train us to fight_.

He very much liked Doctor Finnegan, whose animation and cheer brought life to ancient history. In Chemistry, Doctor Lunsford helped them set up distillation chambers and they learned to extract the essences of oak leaves and unicorn tail-hairs. Luke continued to excel in Charms, the concepts of which came to him with ease, and Botany was a welcome break from the classroom scene as they dug in the dirt to plant seeds that would apparently sprout singing flowers—Doctor Danderben said that with the application of certain fertilizers and incantations, they would be able to produce the national anthem.

In fact, the only class that Luke was not really enjoying was the one he had looked forward to the most: Beginning Flying. Thursday's session was a misery, with Luke's nausea beginning the moment the broom touched his hands. He could no longer even look up at the goalposts without his knees going watery. Mrs Finnegan spoke to him and a few other students after that class and asked them to come in on Sunday morning for an extra session. "It'll be much easier with a smaller group," she assured them.

Though Luke had expected, from a class called Life Studies, that they would be studying something like biology, the truth was much simpler: they were learning how to live like Muggles, to be able to negotiate a world without magic. "This is a big country," said Professor Blue, "and we witches and wizards are few and far between. You have to apply to live in the few all-magic communities that we have, and your odds of getting in are very small. So the vast majority of us have to live alongside Muggles without them ever suspecting the truth. This may seem like a simple class to those of you raised in Muggle or half-Muggle households, but the more training you receive in magic, the more you'll need this training, as well." Luke enjoyed a class in which he felt very little pressure.

When Luke woke up on Saturday, for the first time he had nowhere in particular to go. He wandered into the courtyard with David Cavanaugh and they heard several second-year freshmen discussing baseball; they were Muggle-born and had grown up with the game, and Dave, who was born of wizarding parents, was interested. In the end they mustered up a team and the Muggle-born students taught the wizarding-born the rules not by long discourse but simply by launching a game on the field behind the Quidditch stands. By lunchtime they were sweaty, dirty, and exhausted, and Luke was grinning as he approached Jackson, Andromeda, and the rest of the quintuplets at a table in White Hall.

Jackson was chagrined. "You played baseball without me?"

"We can play again this afternoon," Luke said. "It was great! I didn't realize there were so many kids here with two Muggle parents, like me."

"Yeah, that's really common in the States," said the quintuplets' older brother, Charon. "I mean, a lot of witches and wizards end up marrying people they met here at Emerald Hill, but there are still a bunch who marry Muggles. Doesn't matter, though," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Just then a large feathery object landed in the center of the table, upsetting several glasses and startling Psyche so badly that she gave a small scream. It was an owl, which glared at them all briefly before focusing on Luke, and then he saw that it had a letter tied to its leg. Luke gasped and fumbled with the knot, pushing his plate of sandwich crusts to the owl before tearing open the plain white envelope—made of Muggle paper.

"Is it from Mark?" asked Jackson, leaning over.

"Yes!" Luke was very excited, but upon reading the message his face fell from elation to confusion. _Call me_ , was all it said, and gave a number.

"But I _have_ to."

"I'm sorry, Lucas, but there's only one telephone on campus and that's in the principal's office. And he doesn't allow it to be used for things like this unless it's an emergency." Doctor Lunsford looked sympathetic. "I know you want to talk to your brother, but you'll just have to write him another letter."

"But he wants me to _call_ him." Luke felt inadequate to convey the urgency he felt. "I haven't seen my brother since May, Doctor Lunsford, they wouldn't let me stay with him and he never replies to my letters so if he did this time it has to be important. Don't you see?"

Lunsford sighed. "Lucas—"

"There are phones in Red River, right?" said Jackson, leaning on his uncle's desk. "Come on, Uncle Heath, you'd let me talk to Maggie if she wanted."

"Yes, but you'd be allowed to contact her through Floo. It's different with Lucas's brother—he's a Muggle."

"He already knows about everything, we could use Floo!" But the moment these words were said, Jackson clapped both hands over his mouth, looking guilty.

Lunsford was shocked. "You…told your brother?" he said quietly to Luke. "About Emerald Hill? Everything?"

"I didn't know I wasn't supposed to," said Luke, cowed. "Nobody told me I wasn't supposed to! I write Mark letters all the time, and nobody said I shouldn't tell him about all this."

Lunsford stared at him for a long, terrible moment, and then sighed. "I'm sorry, Lucas," he said again. "We haven't been very fair to you. I guess it was easy to assume you knew the rules, since you were there with Jackson… We should have paid more attention to you specifically. Yours is a tough situation. I apologize."

This surprised Luke and he bobbed his head, unsure. "Uh, it's okay."

"Where does your brother live?"

"North Carolina. Some cabin in the mountains somewhere. He wants to be a park ranger."

"Does he have a fireplace?"

Jackson's face brightened and Luke glanced between them, the weight on his chest lifting. "Do you mean it?"

Lunsford shrugged with a little smile. "I'm going to have to speak to him in person."

"Don't erase his memory!" shrilled Jackson, startling Luke. "Uncle Heath, you can't!"

"You can _do_ that?" cried Luke, aghast.

"Yes, it's possible. Calm down, Jack." Lunsford touched Jackson's shoulder reassuringly. "There won't be any need for that. Does he have a fireplace, Luke?"

"Uh, yeah, I'm pretty sure. He said it was just a little cabin, so I don't think it has heat."

"Come on, then. We have to go to Principal Zander's office, to get him to connect your brother to the Floo network just for today."

"Principal Zander? Do we _have_ to tell him?"

"I'm afraid so. Don't worry, though—this kind of thing happens every now and then. It's just that it's extra important to keep things secret these days. He might even come with us to see your brother."

Cynthia Redding smiled pleasantly at them from her desk in her office, beyond the double doors at the head of the enormous staircase in White Hall. It was a lavish, warm sort of room with deep carpets and shining surfaces, and the bright little woman looked somewhat out of place there. "Need to see the principal, Doctor?"

"Yes, please, Cynthia," said Lunsford. "Is he busy?"

"Not at all, just reading the weekly reports. Go on in." With her wand she tapped a multi-colored pad on her desk in a particular spot, and beyond the large door in the back of the room Luke could hear the tinkling of a bell. Lunsford walked to the door and Luke and Jackson followed. Luke was vaguely relieved that his first visit to the office of the principal was not under circumstances of punishment. He did not intend to break any rules, but was paranoid of doing so by mistake.

Principal Zander sat behind a vast desk that was cluttered with all sorts of things: manuscripts, filing folders, intricate brass instruments, and, to Luke's amusement, several ordinary-looking snowglobes. He looked up as they entered, and smiled broadly. "Heath," he said in a warm voice. "And who are these bright young faces? No, don't tell me…" He looked at the boys closely. "You," he said, "are Jackson Vance Parker, nephew of our esteemed Chemistry professor here. You have your uncle's eyes."

Jackson beamed at this, and Luke was feeling more cheerful as Zander turned to him. "And you, of course, are Lucas Alan Baxter, foster brother of young Jackson here."

Luke had not thought of himself in those terms and it surprised him, but at the same time he liked it. The term _foster brother_ made him sound as though he were part of a family again. But that, of course, brought his thoughts back to Mark, and he sobered once more. "Hello, sir," he said politely, allowing his hand to be shaken; Principal Zander had very large, square hands and a firm grip.

Lunsford went straight to business, describing the situation to the principal. Zander looked surprised but not angry, and gave Luke a kind smile. "Well," he said, "since your brother—what's his name?"

"Mark," said Luke.

"Since Mark already knows, there's no point trying to deny it. You sent your letters by owl, I presume?"

"Yes, sir. And…and I sort of sent a photo, too. The kind that moves."

"Ah." Zander nodded, his face a picture of deep thought. "That does complicate things. You were right to come to me, boys, and your teacher has the right idea—we're going to have to pay Mark a little visit. Just to explain things better."

Luke chewed on his lip. "Sir?" he said, and his voice sounded very small. "Please…please don't erase my brother's memory. It's not his fault I told."

Zander did not laugh, as Luke had been afraid that he might, but rather put a large hand on Luke's shoulder and looked at him closely. "Don't worry," he said. "It's going to be just fine, Luke, I promise. Your brother lives alone, right?" Luke nodded. "Then who is he going to tell? And, more to the point, who would believe him if he did?"

Luke nodded tentatively. "So…we can go see him?"

"I think that's best." Zander walked briskly to the door and leaned out into Cynthia Redding's office. "Cindy, we're going out for a bit. Back by dinnertime."

"Yes, sir."

There was a large, ornate fireplace in one wall of Zander's office, with all manner of odd miscellanea on the mantel (including a few more snow globes), the wax of several tall candles spilling over the edge, frozen in mid-drip. With a flick of the principal's wand flames roared into life from the ashes, impressing Luke and Jackson very much. "Write down your brother's address for me, will you, Luke?" said Zander, bringing down from the mantel a dish of Floo powder.

Luke found a scrap of paper amidst the piles on the desk and took a quill from the principal's pot, writing the address carefully and handing it to Zander. Zander read it several times, then closed his eyes and directed his wand toward the fireplace, muttering soundlessly for several moments. Lunsford watched without expression, but Jackson could not stop whispering to Luke of his excitement to meet Mark. Luke had to admit he was excited, too, and hoped that Mark would not be too upset to have several people burst into his home out of the fireplace. _Try not to make a mess_ , he wanted to say.

Zander emerged from his trance, smiling, and tossed in a handful of the Floo powder. "You first, Luke," he said. "Warn your brother we're coming. We'll be about a minute behind you."

"Yes, sir." Luke stepped up to the fireplace and suddenly wished that he had been able to change into clean clothes; he was still dirty from the morning's baseball game. He also wished he were not wearing his Sky Kitsune patch on his t-shirt. But he would have felt silly taking it off in front of the others, so he left it. "Um, what do I say?"

"Say, _Mark Baxter's house_."

Luke nodded and addressed the flames. "Mark Baxter's house." He stepped into the fireplace and let the wind turn him to dust and carry him away, across the country.


	14. Chapter 14

" _Luke?_ "

Rolled up into that single word was a world's worth of astonishment, but the voice that spoke it was so achingly familiar that Luke was suddenly on the verge of tears. He remembered his brother's face among the rhododendron leaves, the guiding hands on his shoulders, the wave through the car window. _Write to me_ , Mark had said.

Luke shook his head hard, sending a light shower of ash to the floor, and gave his older brother an apologetic sort of smile.

"Hey, Mark."

Mark looked very much like an older version of Luke; they had the same sandy hair and long nose, but while Luke had their father's dark eyes, Mark's eyes were a bright greenish hazel like those of their mother. He was standing between the card table and the fallen chair at which he had been sitting…and which he had vacated rapidly at the sight of a person walking out of his fireplace from bright green flames, where before there had been no fire of any color. For a few seconds they just looked at each other, and then Luke's tears began to well up. "Sorry about the mess," he said, his voice squeaking.

"No, um, it's okay." Mark held out his hands, looking uncomfortable at the sight of his brother's emotion. "What are you…how did you…?"

"We can travel like that," said Luke rather miserably. "My, um, principal and one of my teachers are coming. They want to talk to you. Jack's coming, too, so you can meet him."

Mark's mouth worked for a moment as he obviously sought for some sort of coherent reply to this, and Luke shot a quick look around the cabin. It was very small—the whole thing was no larger than Luke's dorm room at Emerald Hill, with a cot in one corner and a half-open door leading to a tiny bathroom. "Your…principal?" Mark managed to say at last, but Luke had no time to reply.

Gerald Zander marched out of the fireplace as easily as though he were walking down the street, followed in a moment by Jackson and then Heath Lunsford. Zander gave a happy sort of sigh, straightening his robes and looking around. Then, "Hi," said Mark.

"Hello!" boomed Zander with great cheer. "You must be Mark Baxter. I'm Gerald Zander, principal of the Emerald Hill American Academy of Magic." He pumped the hand of the bewildered Mark and then gestured to Lunsford. "This is Doctor Heath Lunsford, a very talented Beginning and Intermediate Chemistry professor, and his nephew Jackson, of whom I believe you are already aware."

Jackson's grin seemed to show every tooth, and he examined Mark with bright interest. "Can you teach us that yo-yo trick?" he asked.

"Uh," said Mark, "hi, Jack. Maybe later. What's this all about?"

"You said you wanted me to call you," said Luke, stepping closer. "I wanted to, but we don't have any phones at school, so I had to tell Doctor Lunsford, who said we had to tell Principal Zander…" He sighed. "I guess it's a big deal that I told you about Emerald Hill and everything. I wasn't supposed to in the first place."

Zander was nodding. "We just came to make sure that you understand our situation, Mark," he said, and his manner was very pleasant. "Excuse the mess, by the way. Heath, would you...?"

Lunsford nodded curtly and drew his wand from a hidden pocket in the sleeve of his robes; Mark's eyes boggled briefly at the sight. With a grand sweep of his wand, Lunsford collected all of the scattered ash and even the dust hanging in the air and returned it neatly to the fireplace. The wind of that motion shook everyone's clothes and, to Luke's surprise, had taken with it much of the dirt from his t-shirt and jeans.

Mark fumbled behind him for the chair, realized that it was still on the ground, and sat on the edge of the table. Still deadpan, Lunsford made a twitching motion with his wand and the chair gently righted itself. As Mark took his seat, Luke could see his brother's hands shaking slightly, and then Luke looked sharply up at Zander, who was still smiling. _You did that on purpose_ , he thought, thinking of the mess of their entrance. _So he'd believe us right away._ It was remarkably shrewd, and Luke was impressed.

"Have you told anyone of the content of Luke's letters, Mark?" asked Zander, taking a chair for himself across the small table.

"Uh, no." Mark shook his head. "Nope. Didn't…didn't seem like the sort of thing to tell."

"But did you believe it?"

Luke paid very close attention; this answer was important to him. And indeed, Mark glanced his way before replying. "Not at first. I thought it was a game. You know, something he made up to make himself feel better. I was worried about him, but I thought, at least he's not depressed, right?

"But…then he sent me the picture." Mark stood then and went over to the cot, and pulled out a little cardboard box from underneath, extracting from this the photo that Luke had sent to him, taken with Charon Day's magical camera. He handed it to Zander, who smiled as he saw the children waving, the movement still sharp and clear. "When I saw that, I didn't sleep all night. I couldn't stop looking at it. And I couldn't figure out how it could be doing that unless…" He sighed, running his hands through his hair, which was longer and more wild than Luke's. "Unless he wasn't making it up."

Zander nodded and handed the photo back to Mark. "It must have been a shock to you. It always is, when our world is revealed to someone who didn't know about it. Luke was surprised, too, weren't you?"

Luke nodded earnestly, wanting very much for his brother to understand. "I didn't believe it either, not till Doctor Lunsford lifted me into the air with his wand."

"But the thing is," Zander went on, "Luke was not supposed to disclose to you much of the information that he has. He didn't know that, though, so it's not his fault. It's ours. We wanted to be certain that this is something you'll keep to yourself."

Mark laughed briefly. "If I went around talking about this, I'd get locked up. It sounds crazy."

Zander smiled. "That's the good part. The bad part is that there is danger involved with the knowledge you've been given."

Everyone grew solemn. "You mean…that stuff about this Dark Lord…that was real, too?" Mark did not look as though he had not believed it, but rather as though he had not wanted to believe it. "Who is he? What does he want?"

"Death," replied Zander quietly, "and destruction. "He is evil. Cracked. Broken in some fundamental way. He is a madman and a murderer, and he is very much at large. He's after our entire society, Mark, and he has all of our resources."

"Thanks for the nightmares," muttered Mark. Luke had to smile.

"Well, that's another reason we're here. You have to know of the danger, of course, but we're not going to leave you without recourse. With your permission, Doctor Lunsford and I would like to offer you some protection."

"Oh." Mark looked dubious. "Well, what kind of protection? A spell or something?"

"Yes. Sort of like an invisible tent over this little cabin. I can assure you that you'd be completely safe. And if anything magical did try to tamper with it, I would be alerted at once, as the creator of the spell. Would that be satisfactory?"

"Sure, whatever you say." Mark leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. "Do what you do." It seemed to Luke that his brother had given up on trying to understand what was going on, and had decided to just go along with it.

"And there is one other thing." Zander's face had gone so grave that Mark refocused on him (with visible reluctance), and Luke felt a strange, sharp pang in the pit of his stomach. "Mark, I would like to offer you more than just protection over this house. I can offer you protection over your mind."

Mark looked wary. "What do you mean?"

"I would never do so without your permission, but I would strongly recommend that you allow us to modify your memory. We can take away everything you know about Emerald Hill, the Dark Lord, magic—everything."

"No!" cried Luke. "No, you can't! You promised!"

Zander raised a hand to quiet him. "Sit down," he said, and rose from his chair, guiding Luke with a gentle but firm hand to sit there, across the table from Mark. Jackson was pressed close to his uncle, clutching at Lunsford's robes. "Listen carefully, all of you," said the principal. "Secrecy is... _everything_ in our society, and most especially now. These are dark days, boys. I must impress upon you just how dark. I hope you both understand, now, just how serious we are when we talk about the Dark Lord. He is without mercy. He has tortured and killed _children_ , children just like the thousands that have been given into my care. If we become his target he will stop at nothing in attacking us, and so I must stop at nothing to protect my school, my staff, my students. To modify your memory, Mark, would be not only for your protection, but also for the protection of Luke and Jackson. Whether or not you understand that now, it is the truth."

There was a high ringing sound in the back of Luke's mind, like a scream. He wanted to argue, but the more he thought the more confused he became, and could think of nothing to say. Then, to his horror, he saw that Mark was nodding slowly.

"I get it," he said.

"No," whispered Luke, but no one heard him.

"This guy, if he found me, could use me to get to Luke—to get to the school. But…" He looked at Luke with a sad little smile. "But if I don't know anything about the school, he can't use me, can he?"

Zander nodded. "I'll give you a moment with your brother," he said, and gestured. "Heath, Jackson, come with me. The protection spell must be conducted from outside the house."

They closed the door behind them, leaving Luke to face his brother across the dingy card table. Luke glanced out the window. There was a short walk leading to a gravel road that disappeared in either direction into thick trees, and they were all the trees that Luke remembered and adored: white pine and red maple, the spreading oaks and towering hemlocks. Zander and Lunsford both drew their wands, and Zander was talking to Jackson, though Luke could not catch the words. He began moving his wand in intricate patterns through the air, and Luke thought he saw strands of light-colored substance, rather like spiderwebs, flit from the principal's wand toward the cabin, but they disappeared at once. He could feel something in the air, however, a feeling of _tightening_.

"Wild," said Mark quietly, and Luke saw that he, too, was watching through the window.

"Don't do it," said Luke.

"Why?" Mark's expression was frank and, to Luke, very adult. "Me knowing about this stuff is dangerous. At least he told me about it and asked my permission instead of wiping my brain first, right? And it's not like I won't remember _you_. You can keep writing, tell me about your friends and your grades and everything. Just not magic. And I guess you'll have to send your letters in the regular mail, too. I'll think the Parkers sent you to boarding school or something. And really, that's not so far from the truth."

Luke felt desperate. He _knew_ that there was something wrong about this plan, could not ignore the twisting of his stomach at the thought of it, but at the same time he had no response to its logic. "They...they'll read my letters before they send them," he said at last, in a small voice.

"Yeah, I guess they will. But that's standard wartime practice, Mucus."

Luke had to smile at the old nickname; it had used to make him angry and tearful, but now it stung in a different way. "War," he repeated.

"Sounds to me like that's what you've got going on. Pretty amazing that schools like yours are still running, considering that guy's on the loose. I like that man—your principal. Zapper?"

" _Zander_." But Luke's smile was firmer now. _He's changed_ , he thought, looking thoughtfully at his big brother. _He's changed so much. But maybe I have, too._

"Zander, okay. I like him. So Luke…you be careful, okay? You do whatever he tells you to do."

Luke's throat felt too swollen to speak, so he just nodded.

There was a light knock on the door and Jackson poked in his head. "They want to know if you're ready," he said.

Mark took a deep breath and let it out slowly, resting his arms on the table. "Yeah. Ready."

Jackson entered, followed by Lunsford and Zander. "First," said Zander gently, "we'll have to burn the letters you've received, along with that photo."

Mark gathered these things, but at the last moment Luke snatched the photo from the fireplace. "I'll keep it," he said, and stuffed it into a pocket of his jeans. No one objected. They all watched the letters burn, and then Zander instructed Mark to sit at the table once more. But to Luke's surprise it was Lunsford who drew his wand. Mark watched it, brow furrowing. "You're sure you can erase only those parts?" he asked.

"You have nothing to fear," said Zander. "Doctor Lunsford is an accomplished wizard and highly accredited at memory modification. You're in good hands."

Lunsford did not acknowledge the compliment, but offered his lopsided smile to Mark. "This won't hurt a bit," he said. "You'll feel a little dizzy afterward—you won't even notice us leaving—but in an hour you'll be fine."

Mark nodded, looking grim. "Okay. I'm ready."

Lunsford relaxed; his shoulders slumped and his eyes went half-closed, and the wand looked in danger of tumbling from his fingers. Then, as sudden and sharp as a firecracker, his back snapped straight and rigid, his eyes flew open, and he swept the wand through the air with the motion of a chop. " _Obliviate!_ " he shouted, and for an instant a flash of white light filled the cabin.

It reminded Luke of a camera flash.

As Lunsford had said, Mark was groggy afterward. When Luke hugged him he gave a distracted sort of goodbye, muttering something about needing to "clean this rat's nest." But he clearly still remembered Luke, and that was a tremendous relief.

Luke refused to speak to either Zander or Lunsford. They returned to the school by Floo—Mark would not remember their departure later—and while Jackson lingered to have a discussion with his uncle, Luke ignored Lunsford's offer of inclusion and went straight to his room in the Kitsune dormitory, curling up on his bed with Grimalkin.

 _Write your letters_ , Zander had said once they were back at Emerald Hill. _I'll send them for you, Luke—by conventional mail, of course._ But Luke knew that all of his letters to Mark from now on would be read and censored before being sent, and it was no consolation.

As evening fell, Luke's silent tears were absorbed by his pillow. _I'm so sorry_ , he thought to his brother, so far away again. _I'm so sorry_. But he did not know what he was sorry for.

* * *

 _Dear Mark:_

 _School is going fine. I like all of my classes a lot, and Jack and I are exploring the whole campus bit by bit. There are a lot of cool statues here and I think they put some of them on purpose in places that are hard to find, so they're like a surprise. My other friend Andi has a birthday soon. She's throwing a huge party and Jack and I are invited. Jack still wants you to teach us that yo-yo trick sometime, so don't forget._

 _Grimalkin says hi. She's my cat, remember? If I can find someone with a camera I'll send you a picture of her._

 _I miss you. I'll write again soon._

 _Luke_

* * *

When Luke brought the letter, complete with stamp and address, to Cynthia Redding's office, she showed him the basket where he could leave it. Luke was stunned to see other letters there—dozens. He wondered how many brothers and sisters and parents and cousins had had to have their memories altered, and reflected again on the price of secrecy and all that the Dark Lord had done to fracture these families, and then tossed his letter onto the pile.

"It doesn't get easier, hun," said Redding sympathetically as he was leaving the office. "Never does. But we've all got to stick together on this."

"I know," said Luke. "This is war."


	15. Chapter 15

Sunday was overcast and chilly, which suited Luke's mood. He went early to White Hall, planning to eat breakfast alone before heading to the Quidditch field—he didn't want to see Jackson before he had had time to think about what to say. For once, his friend's bright chatter was not welcome. But he had only just started his meal when the hair on the back of his neck prickled, and he knew that someone was staring at him. He looked up sharply, glaring for no real reason, and saw his Transfiguration teacher at a table at the edge of the professors' loft, watching him as she scooped scrambled eggs to her mouth. Her face was a perfect oval, and in the indirect light of the morning sunshine, her skin looked almost translucent. Luke had not known many Asians in his short life, but he thought Doctor Yancey was very beautiful.

He looked down again, remembering the day that the woman had come to his rescue and Jackson's, removing them easily from a situation that could have turned disastrous. How relieved they had been to be safely back within the walls of Dragontooth Square! But later they had laughed about their fear, taking comfort from each other. Suddenly Luke felt guilty; again he and Jackson had gone together through a scary situation, but this time there had been no comfort. It was wrong of him to avoid his friend—Jackson was undoubtedly suffering, and he had done nothing wrong. He had been supportive of Luke and opposed to the memory modification from the very beginning.

He thought about mentioning something to Yancey about that day on the streets of New York City, but when he looked up again, she was gone, having slipped away while he was lost in thought. There was no time for a conversation anyway, he noticed, glancing at the ornate four-foot-diameter clock suspended above the stairs to the administrative offices. Nor was there time to seek out Jackson; it was time for his extra flying lesson, and as his stomach turned at the thought, he regretted the eggs and bacon.

This being a weekend, no one was required to wear their school robes, and it felt odd to see his classmates in jeans and sweaters (though they still wore their patches). Even Michelle Finnegan was dressed casually, with a long narrow scarf in rainbow colors dangling to her knees, but she still wore her ubiquitous silver bracelets and even from afar Luke could hear them chiming.

"Welcome, Mister Baxter," she greeted him. "Everyone here? Yes. Good. Please stand beside a broom."

Luke edged nervously up to a vacant broom, ashamed of himself but unable to help it.

"Now," said Finnegan, clapping her hands together so that the bracelets jingled loudly. "You've all had a bit of trouble mastering the basic kick, so we're going to work on that. Now, a confident flight begins with a confident call. Never forget that the broom is an inanimate object—it's charmed, but it's still just a broom. You are a human. The broom will obey you if you make up your mind to be in charge. Now, let me hear some confident _ups_. Go for it!"

Luke held out his hand over the broom, and swallowed hard. Every time he called a broom to him, he remembered with horror the way that very first broom had struggled slightly, wanting to keep rising. It was a warning sign that he had not recognized. He knew so little about brooms—what else could he be missing? He sighed, cleared his throat, and mustered a scowl. " _Up_ ," he said to the broom in a commanding tone. At once it leaped to his hand and he caught it inexpertly, gripping rather harder than was necessary.

"Good, Baxter," said Finnegan. "But don't choke it. It's not going to fly out of your hand…I promise." Her smile was kind.

As she went around the group giving pointers—and it was a little disheartening to Luke that so much could go wrong with the initial call and grip of the broom—Luke tried to regard his broom with the interested detachment that would be suitable for an inanimate object. _It's just a thing_ , he told himself. _How many times did Mom make you sweep the porch? It's no different from that broom_. But he could not quite convince himself. This broom lay quiescent in his hands, neither trembling nor struggling nor drooping, but all the same he imagined that it held a brooding menace.

"All right," said Finnegan, "go ahead and mount your brooms." The students did so and she applauded them thoroughly, which made them smile and relaxed the rather tense air of the group. "Now, I'm going to have you kick into the air one at a time. "Hyatt, why don't you start us off?"

A smallish boy stepped forward, with a head of dark curls and a long pointed nose holding up thick glasses, and his brow creased in concentration as he poised for the leap. Luke found that he was holding his breath. Hyatt flexed his knees and then pistoned his legs sharply, rising almost straight into the air instead of at the desired forward angle. His broom rocked crazily for a moment and then steadied, and Hyatt puffed out his cheeks in relief, his face rather red but managing a smile.

"Well, at least you're in the air," said Finnegan, and the others tittered. Hyatt waved a hand with mock-graciousness and then snapped it back to the handle as the broom threatened to roll. "Come on down," said the teacher, and Hyatt gently nosed his broom back to the earth, looking relieved to be there.

"I was never meant to leave the ground," he said in an aside to Luke as Finnegan turned to another student. "My family were miners underground, not in the clouds."

Luke glanced at him with a smile. "What kind of mining do they do in clouds?" he asked with a grin.

Hyatt looked surprised. "Stardust. Lightning residue. Cloud essences. You live under a rock or something?"

Abashed, all Luke could think of to say was, "I'm Muggle-born."

"Say no more," said Hyatt, patting his shoulder with a reappearance of his previous graciousness; Luke couldn't tell if he was being teased. The other boy had the twangy drawl of a resident of New England. "My dad was Muggle-born. He was nuts for me to learn the history of the world and everything magical in it before I even got here. They knew I was magic 'cause when I was two I fell into the lake and bobbed around like a beach ball, laughing. They took pictures." His eyes were huge and emphatic, magnified by the lenses of his glasses.

"Baxter," said Finnegan, looking at him pointedly. Luke thought he was in trouble for talking during the lesson until he realized that it was simply his turn; Hyatt stepped back and Luke gripped his broom carefully, firmly but not too tight. _Just a little kick_ , he thought, repeating Finnegan's words back to himself. _Forward and up_. He remembered the perfectly-calculated kick he had achieved on his very first attempt—before things had gone so terribly wrong—and tried to replicate it, but at the last second fear caused him to stumble and he took a step forward with his left foot before kicking off with both together. To his surprise, the broom sailed into the air and hovered there quietly.

Finnegan applauded, her bracelets adding music to Luke's triumph. "Well done, Baxter! You're getting the hang of it. Come on down, now, we'll practice _staying_ in the air later."

Luke gently pushed on the nose of his broom and it glided obediently to the ground. Feeling exultant, Luke turned to Hyatt with a wide grin and found the smaller boy solemnly holding a hand in the air. It took Luke a moment to recognize the signal for a high-five, and then he obliged.

All things considered, at the end of the lesson Luke was feeling somewhat better about his ability to sit on a broom without dying. As he walked away from the Quidditch grounds he heard jogging feet and saw Hyatt hurrying to catch up with him. "Hey," said the boy. "What herald are you, anyway?"

"Kitsune," said Luke, tapping the patch on his shirt. "I'm a Sky Kitsune—my name's Luke."

"Merwin Hyatt, Night Sphinx." He put out a hand—unusually large for his scrawny body—and Luke shook it. "My dad wanted to give me a _magical_ name. _A twist on a classic_ , he calls it. What do you think?" He blinked earnestly through his glasses.

"It is weird," said Luke. "But one-of-a-kind."

Merwin grinned, scrunching his nose to nudge his glasses higher. "Say, where you headed?"

"I was gonna go find my friend. He's a Sphinx, too. Jackson Parker."

"Never heard of him," said Merwin blithely. "But he's a Sphinx, so we're practically brothers already. Where is he?"

"Dunno," said Luke, wondering how long Merwin—amusing but clingy—would be accompanying him. "Maybe church, I guess. I know his family always goes."

"Then off we go!" Merwin gave what he probably thought was a grand flourish but was really more like a flail. He tromped along beside Luke, making a lot of good-natured noise and greeting many people that they passed, of all years; he was evidently well-known and most of the greetings he received in return, at least from the upperclassmen, were of the same nature as Luke's reaction: fond in an indulgent manner. _That's our Merwin_ , they seemed to say with their eyes and smiles. He appeared to have distinguished himself in a very short time, and Luke was impressed; he still felt anonymous on the Emerald Hill grounds.

The school's chapel was built into the mountainside on the eastern rim of the bowl, only its ornate front showing outside the rock. It was made of milky marble like White Hall, its steps cracked and worn and the brass bell hung outside tarnished and dented; a large stained-glass image was set on either side of the wide doors, and Luke recognized both scenes from his own churchgoing background—Saul encountering Jesus on the road to Damascus, and Elijah being taken up into heaven in the chariot of flames. They were intricate and brilliantly-colored, admitting glittering light into the otherwise shadowy interior. The pews were old and a little musty, and the aisle carpet was threadbare, its edges gnawed by mice, but Luke liked the chapel. It comforted him to know that there were some things, after all, that the wizarding and Muggle worlds shared.

The early service had just ended when Luke and Merwin entered, and as Luke had suspected, Jackson was sitting alone in one of the back pews. His head was bowed and Luke wondered at first if he were praying, but as they paused in the aisle, even with the pew, Jackson looked up and Luke saw that there were tears in his eyes.

To Merwin's credit, he at once muttered a tactful farewell and wandered off to chat with a group of acquaintances further up the aisle. Uncomfortable but moved by his friend's open vulnerability, Luke slid into the pew and sat beside Jackson, who looked even smaller, with even larger eyes, when he was miserable. "Hey," said Luke quietly.

"Hey." Jackson sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "You missed church."

"Yeah, sorry, it's just…I had extra flying practice this morning, remember? I was out on the Quidditch field."

"Oh yeah." Another sniff. Jackson was looking down at his hands, which twisted constantly and fretfully on his knees. "Hey, Luke?"

"Yeah?" Soft organ music was floating down the aisle, and in the peaceful gloom Luke almost felt like crying himself.

"Do you think we did something…bad? Letting them erase your brother's memory?"

Luke cleared his throat. "Well, they didn't _erase_ it. They just changed it." He did not know why he was suddenly defending Lunsford and Zander, but he wanted both Jackson and himself to be clear on that point.

"Okay. Do you think we did something bad, letting them change your brother's memory?"

"That's what you're worried about?"

Jackson nodded, still studying his hands.

"Aw, Jack." Luke was touched, and punched his friend's shoulder lightly. He felt strangely mature and protective, and for a moment knew what it meant to be a big brother, though Jackson was three months older than him. "We didn't do anything wrong. We had to tell. We had to make sure that we're helping keep this world safe."

Jackson finally looked up, hope dawning in his watery eyes. "Then…you'll forgive Uncle Heath?"

Luke considered this for a moment. "No," he decided, shaking his head. "I can't do that yet. He lied to us, Jack, and _that's_ wrong."

Jackson sighed, raising a puff of dust from the shelf, attached to the back of the forward pew, that held the hymnal books. "I figured you'd say that."

For a few moments they were silent, as students shuffled in and out of the cavernous space and the pastor and choir prepared for the day's second service—there were three every Sunday, Luke knew, two in the morning and one in the evening. During the week, the doors were always unlocked, the space available for anyone who wanted to use it. It was a quiet, reverent place.

He looked sidelong at Jackson, who clearly considered himself and Luke a single brotherly unit, so concerned about their potential sin that he could not conceive of any rift between them…and somehow, Jackson's inability to sense it had abolished whatever rift Luke had created in his own mind. And that was a form of magic in itself, a sort that even Muggles could practice. And thinking of Muggles, the image of Mark's face appeared unbidden in Luke's mind, old and wise and troubled as he listened to Zander explaining. Suddenly Luke had to get out, needed fresh air. "Come on," he muttered to Jackson, and they slipped out of the chapel just as the bells were starting to ring to signal the next service.

They walked south around the rim of the bowl. The chill of the early morning air, foretelling the coming autumn, had been chased away and it was a fine morning, with dew still sparkling in the patches of shade. Here a crumbling wall fenced in a courtyard with an enormous chessboard laid in the ground in different shades of marble, cracked and overgrown with weeds; it was large enough for people to stand in as the pieces, and Luke felt a vague desire to learn to play chess, just to try it out. And here, revealed suddenly by a seemingly haphazard arrangement of poplar trees, was a life-sized statue in solid granite of a club-toting giant stooping to shake the relatively tiny hand of a tall wizard.

"David Giant-Hand," said Jackson as they passed. "Dad used to tell me stories about him. I guess the people coming west had trouble with giants and this David guy went out all by himself and made peace with them. America hasn't had much trouble with them since. But David never did come back. He stayed with the giants. So some people say there's still wizard blood in the American giants…or maybe giant blood in American wizards."

Luke had to smile at that. They came up along the eastern edge of the pond, which occupied about half of the bowl's southeast quarter. Sunday was a lazy day for Emerald Hill students and only a few had ventured this far in the morning hours; aside from a few preoccupied wanderers, two upperclassmen girls discussing poetry, and one boy napping in a hammock strung from the branches of the largest Weeping Willow, Luke and Jackson had the pond to themselves. They sat on the ground—benches were plentiful everywhere on the school grounds but Luke preferred being down on the grass—and tossed stones into the water. For once Jackson was quiet, slumped and rather listless, weighed down by his troubles.

Luke felt compelled to speak, but didn't know what to say. He wished that he and Jackson had kept secret the letters he wrote to his brother; better still if he never mentioned them to anyone. The best scenario, of course, would have been never having to write the letters in the first place, but in order for that to be true, he and Mark would still be together, and for them to be together, their mother would have had to be alive.

"I'm mad at myself," he said suddenly. The words burst out of his mouth in the rush of the awful stew of emotions that boiled up when he thought of his brother.

Jackson said nothing, but he stopped throwing stones.

"I'm mad because it's _my_ fault Mark's memory got changed. They took part of his life away from him and it's all my fault. There's an empty space in his mind he'll never even know about. But I will. I'll always know. And now they'll read all my letters, so I can't ever say the real truth. But he won't know that, either. He'll think everything's fine, but I'll know it's not. And that's not fair. It's the _big_ brother who's supposed to know about the bad things and protect the little brother, not the other way around.

"Mark tried to do that at first. After Mom died, I mean. It was real sudden—she went out to go to the bank and get some hamburger meat for the spaghetti sauce, I remember. Her car crashed. They didn't tell me everything that happened, because I'm just a kid. I wanted to know, but they wouldn't tell me. They didn't even have to take her to the hospital, she was just dead. And I think Mark knew that they were gonna send me away. He wanted to keep me with him. I never woulda thought he'd want to keep me like that. We fought a lot, you know? Just being brothers. But he told me that and I thought I'd never loved anybody as much as I did when he said that. And he tried, but I think he probably knew all along they wouldn't let him.

"One night, the last night before they took me to live with you, I got thirsty at night and went downstairs and saw Mark crying. I'd never seen him cry before. It was scary. He tried to stop it really quick so I wouldn't see, and then he was embarrassed, but he didn't leave, and after a little while we just started talking about Mom. You would've liked her, Jack. She used to go fishing with us on the weekends—she was a teacher, so she got weekends off just like us, and the whole summer too. Last May when we got out of school she took me and Mark up to Minnesota to go fishing in Lake Superior. It was the best time I ever had. She had this long dark hair. Mark and I both have hair like Dad's was, but Mom's hair was dark. I remember when I was really little, laying on the big bed in their room and watching Mom brush her hair. Mark has eyes like Mom's, sometimes green and sometimes blue, but they always tell me I have my Dad's eyes.

"I don't remember him much. He died when I was six. I remember he was sick for a long time, though. It was some sort of cancer, I can't remember what. But he was in the hospital all the time and we didn't always have a lot to eat because it cost so much, whatever they were doing to try to make him better. Sometimes, when Mark was in a really good mood, I'd get him to tell stories about when he was little and Dad wasn't sick. Mark says in the fall Dad used to rake the whole yard—it took all day 'cause we had such a big yard—and put the leaves into one gigantic pile and then he'd grab Mark and throw him into it, then jump in after him and they'd make such a mess that he'd have to rake the whole thing all over again. He never did that with me, though. He was too sick. Then one day he came home and I thought it was because he was getting better, but he was so skinny and his skin felt like…it felt like the parchment we use to do our homework. I haven't told anybody this, but that's what I think of whenever I touch that parchment—my dad's skin right before he died. They couldn't fix him. They sent him home to die. And then he did, and nobody was surprised but me."

He stopped and sighed, realizing that he had been talking for a long time. Jackson had not moved, and remained looking out over the water as the sun grew warmer and the shadows deeper. Luke picked a few blades of grass and split them into sections with his fingernails. "I miss my brother," he said finally. "And I wanted to see him again, but not like that. Not…"

Just then there was a small noise behind them, something stirring, and Luke and Jackson turned at once, simultaneously, to see a girl perched on a bench about fifteen feet away, staring at them. It was Dancella—there was no mistaking that hair. "Hey!" cried Luke, startled and self-conscious. "What are you doing? Were you listening the whole time?"

The girl's expression, which had been something Luke did not quite recognize, soured in an instant and her pale green eyes seemed to blaze. Her thin body stiffened. "So what if I was?" she snapped. "What's it to you? Afraid I'm gonna tell the school your pathetic story? You're so arrogant! Leave me alone!" And with that she stormed off, but despite her stomping and theatrical arm-swinging, she made very little noise as she disappeared through the trees.

The boys stared after her, mouths hanging open. Luke felt guilty again; he had not meant to sound so belligerent, but she had surprised him.

"Woah," said Jackson. "What the hell was that about?"

Luke gasped, jerked from his guilt, and turned his stare to Jackson. "You said…"

Jackson was grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Chester says it all the time. The teachers hate it, but the upperclassmen laugh. But boy, you're really good at making Dancy mad."

"I know. I shouldn't have yelled at her.

"Aw, forget about it. She'll be fine." Jackson's good cheer appeared to have been completely restored, and he resumed throwing rocks into the pond. Luke sat in thoughtful silence and watched the ripples spreading from the impact of Jackson's rocks. It made him think of the Lake Superior trip again—casting far across the water on a misty morning—and that aroused a strong but indefinable ache in the region of his stomach. He wished he could relive just five minutes of that trip…which made him wonder whether there might exist some magic that allowed someone to relive parts of his life, if only as a spectator. For a moment he considered asking Jackson about it, but figured the boy probably wouldn't know, and it would be unwise to reintroduce the awkwardness they had spent the past hour overcoming.

About a quarter-turn around the pond, a dark-haired figure appeared from the wood path and looked around: Luke recognized Merwin Hyatt and raised an arm. Merwin saw him and ambled around the pond with hands in pockets. Jackson watched his approach with interest. Luke looked between the two of them and thought to himself that they were of nearly the exact same build, and yet their faces could not have been more different—Jackson's round and open and freckled, Merwin's long-nosed and swarthy.

"Hey," said Merwin. "You guys okay, or what?"

"Yeah," said Luke before Jackson could answer. "Merwin, this is Jackson Parker, my…my foster brother." It sounded strange to say that, but he liked it. "Jack, that's Merwin, uh…"

"Hyatt." Merwin pumped Jackson's arm three times and released his hand. "Night Sphinx. Luke tells me you're a Sphinx, too."

"I sure am!" Jackson's chest swelled with pride. "Flame Sphinx. My dad was a Silver Sphinx."

"Eh, mine was a Sky Unicorn. He's wicked proud of it, too. In fact, he—oh, hey, Jeremy!" Merwin beamed over the tops of the other boys' heads at someone behind them.

Luke and Jackson turned to see an older boy approaching, wearing a bright orange cap stuffed down over pale hair. "Hey, Merwin," he said rather absently, and then focused on Jackson. "You Jackson Parker?"

"Uh, yes?" squeaked Jackson, startled by the attention.

"Good. You'd better come up to the owl tower and get your bird. He's flying all around the place making a mess. Haven't you trained him?"

"He was just a baby!" Jackson protested, scrambling to his feet. "He couldn't even fly!"

"Well, he's flying now." The boy turned on a heel and made his way back toward the center of campus.

"That's Jeremy Phelps," said Merwin, hopping a bit to keep up with the others. "Senior Gold Phoenix. He's the apprentice owl-keeper for the whole school! Everyone says they're gonna hire him when old Trevelyan kicks the bucket."

"Do you know everyone in the school?" Luke asked.

"Yep!" Merwin grinned. "I mean, I'm working on it. You gotta _integrate_ , y'know?"

Luke did not know, but neither did he bother asking. By the time they reached the owlry all three were winded, for Jeremy took long strides and showed no interest in whether or not the boys were actually following him. The owlry was not a single structure but rather a series of small turrets carved into the side of the northern cliff, connected by narrow stairs chipped from the rock. On their first trek up, to deposit the owl chick, Jackson had tripped and fallen out into space, but before he could panic, his friend had bounced back and stood on the steps looking bewildered. They learned later that the steps were charmed to keep anyone from falling, but Luke could still not be convinced to try it out himself (though Jackson had toppled gleefully from the edge several times, each time shoved back by what seemed like an invisible trampoline).

When Jeremy opened the heavy iron door to a certain turret, about a hundred feathers shot out through the new opening, and the four of them spluttered and waved their arms until they could see. Jackson's Great Gray Owl chick was immediately visible, swooping around the circular room in crazy figure-eights, diving and chirruping with great pleasure. Jackson sidled around Jeremy, swatting away more feathers (shed by the stressed housemates of the exuberant youngster), raised his arms, opened his mouth, and froze.

"Well?" said Jeremy, folding his arms. "Do something."

Jackson looked at him over his shoulder. "What do I do?"

"Call him!"

"He doesn't have a name."

"Then _give_ him a name."

Jackson's face contorted for a moment as he wrestled with this responsibility, and then a word burst shrilly from him: "Toodle-oo!"

The adolescent owl squawked with surprise and nearly tumbled from the air, but recovered and flapped rather clumsily to Jackson, who was nearly unbalanced by the bird's weight on his arm. "Hey!" he cried, exultant and a little frightened. "Hey, it worked!"

Merwin was smirking, and Luke could not help but grin. " _Toodle-oo?_ " they said together.

Jackson scowled. "It was all I could think of!"

"Hey, whatever." Jeremy still looked bored, but he was smiling a little. "You've gotta train that bird, kid."

Jackson looked at the owl, sitting quite calmly on his arm, and reached up to stroke its head tentatively. "But…I don't know how."

"You could help him, right, Jeremy?" said Merwin. "Come on, it's Sunday, you don't have nothin' better to do."

"Except teach you how to talk, apparently." But Jeremy was still smiling. "Yeah, all right. Come on, kid, we'll go to the baseball field."

And so the hours before lunch found Luke sitting in the baseball bleachers with Merwin Hyatt, watching Jeremy and Jackson try to train the newly-christened Toodle-oo. Merwin rambled extensively about the various other students doing homework or playing games elsewhere in the stands until Luke's head spun, so full of facts and information that it eventually gave up and just let Merwin's voice pass into one ear and out of the other (as his mother always used to say).

Then he spied Andromeda's older brother Charon walking along the edge of the field with another boy and two girls. He waved, and Charon nodded his way, then stopped as an afterthought. "Hey," he yelled, "did your brother like that picture?"

For a moment Luke's throat was too tight to allow speech, but after a few swallows he managed a smile. "Yeah," he called back. "Yeah, he sure did. Thanks."

"Good. By the way, my little brothers and sisters have their birthday next week. They're throwing this huge party. Gonna be there?"

"Oh! Yeah, sure!"

The older students moved on, and Merwin stared at Luke through those funny thick glasses. "You know Charon Day?" he said. "He's like the best-looking guy in the school, and he's only fourteen!"

Luke shrugged. "His sister's a Sky Kitsune like me, so we have classes together."

Merwin staged a dramatic swoon. "Luke. Man. Those girls are like models! You gotta introduce me!"

Enjoying this newfound power, Luke sniffed and feigned greater interest in Toodle-oo's acrobatics. "I'll think about it."

Again Mark's face tried to push its way into his thoughts, and he repelled it gently but firmly. _Sorry, Mark_ , he thought. _This time it's gotta be me taking care of you_.

* * *

 _Dear Mark:_

 _Jackson has a pet bird. His uncle got it for him. He named it Toodloo (I'm not sure how to spell it) and it's really friendly. But a little crazy too. Sort of like Jack, I guess. Ha ha. My friend Andi has a birthday next week and she's gonna have this really big party. That should be fun. Do you think you can come to the Parker's house for Christmas? My classes are great. I'm learning alot. Write back when you can._

 _Luke_

* * *

 _Luke,_

 _Sounds like you're having a great time. Things are fine here in NC. The leaves are going to start turning colors soon. By the way, I met this girl. Her name is Kelly and she is_ _RICH!_ _! I might spend Christmas with her family. I don't know yet. I'll let you know when I decide. But Kentucky isn't so far, so maybe I can come visit for a day once you're home for the holidays. Stay out of trouble, Mucus._

 _Mark._


	16. Chapter 16

"Hello, and welcome to _Rrrrrrroma!_ "

Jackson's face split into a goofy open-mouthed grin; Luke smiled rather hesitantly. The doorman was dressed in only a long white toga, sandals, and a crown of olive leaves, and the arm he had flung into the air for dramatic effect along with the word _Roma_ hung there motionless as he appraised their reactions.

"Um, thank you," Luke said at last, and only then did the arm descend.

"May I have the honor of accepting your invitations?" he said, tenting his fingers and leaning forward.

Jackson, who had insisted upon the privilege of carrying the invitations, held out the beautifully embossed cards (each complete with a detailed ink drawing of a kitsune at the top, as their invitations had come from Andromeda). "Can't we keep them?" he asked.

"But of course." The man produced a hole-puncher from a shelf within his little podium and deftly clipped a hole in a corner of each invitation. "Lucas Baxter and Jackson Parker, present. Please select a complimentary toga, remove your shoes, and go on in. The gift table is in the northest quarter, second tier."

The boys advanced past the podium (another _welcome to_ _Rrroma_ rang out from behind them) and, chuckling all the while, selected long swathes of cotton to drape about themselves toga-style (dark blue for Luke and red with gold trim for Jackson). They then kicked their shoes into the existing pile and made their way barefoot up the broad marble steps to the open concourse of White Hall, the entirety of which had been rented and decorated by the quintuplets' parents for the occasion of their eleventh birthday. The theme of the party, as indicated on the invitations, was _ancient Rome_ , and Luke and Jackson were very impressed, having never even heard of a party with a theme, much less anything on this extravagant scale.

Vast curtains of silk hung between the outer pillars—in blue, gold, and silver, celebrating the Emerald Hill styles of the quintuplets—and the tables and chairs were gone, plush cushions and divans instead dividing the tiers of the hall into areas for socializing, eating, and dancing. Instead of a formal meal, the entire uppermost tier wall was lined with banquet tables of bare but beautifully polished wood, featuring mostly roasted meat and mountains of fresh fruit. Even the ceiling was disguised with further drapes of silk, and the floor tiles had been charmed to glitter and sparkle in the torchlight.

All in all, Luke had never seen anything quite so lavish. Every two seconds, Jackson saw something new to exclaim about—the fountain in the center of the lowest tier that had not been there that morning, the waiters in peasant garb carrying polished silver trays, the minstrel band of lyre and lute playing in one corner, how funny this or that person looked in his toga.

First they made their way through the crowded hall to the gift table, already laden with beautifully wrapped presents, and deposited their own contributions. Over a week ago they had made a special trip to Red River, escorted by Lunsford, to find gifts for the quintuplets; advised by Lunsford that this was a formal affair, Jackson had picked out special quills, each of the five with a unique feather, and Luke had chosen charm bracelets for the girls and pocket knives for the boys. They felt very adult about their purchases.

Charon was attending the gift table, resplendent in a dark green toga, and greeted the boys warmly. "The quints are up on the dais," he said, gesturing up to the professors' loft. "Go say hi before you eat anything—they expect it."

"What's a dais?" Jackson asked as they headed for the bridge to the loft.

"Beats me," said Luke. "That thing, I guess." He pointed—a raised platform had been erected in the center of the loft and upon it, in velvet-padded chairs, were the five birthday children. Paris and Aristaeus wore togas, but in richer fabrics than those distributed to the guests; Theia, Psyche, and Andromeda were dressed in gauzy silk and expensive-looking jewels. All five wore the olive-leaf crowns. With their dark curly hair and manner of easy charm, they looked quite at home in the exotic setting.

Luke and Jackson joined the line of people waiting to greet the quintuplets, and as they waited, Jackson had an idea and whispered quickly with Luke. When they finally reached the dais, instead of saying hello, they bowed in unison. The boys rolled their eyes but the three girls were delighted—Psyche even blushed—so Luke and Jackson considered the idea a success.

After some searching they managed to locate Jackson's roommate Chester with some other acquaintances, and sat down on cushions to eat. Every student was allowed one small glass of real Italian wine, and the boys toasted one another expansively, laughing at their own wit and eating grapes and cheese and the most delicious bread Luke had ever tasted. It took more than an hour for the quintuplets to greet all the guests, and then Andromeda came to find them. She wore a silver anklet with tiny bells on it that jingled as she walked, and she sank down onto a cushion beside Jackson with a faint tingling and a graceful sweep of lavender silks, looking older than her eleven years.

"Whew!" she said, and sipped at her goblet of wine. "That was Theia's idea, the whole throne thing. I thought it was a little tacky. But aren't the togas great? You boys look so funny!"

The group muttered assent, staring at Andromeda with varying levels of shyness. She wore a ring on one finger with a blue stone as large as a robin's egg. Seeing Luke looking at it, she laughed and toyed with the ring. "Mother can go a bit overboard with our parties. I think she enjoys them more than we do. But it's lovely, right?"

"Yeah," Luke said, one of a surrounding flurry of nods. "I never knew White Hall could look so…rich."

Andromeda blushed and some of the boys glared at Luke, who did not realize what he might have said wrong for several seconds. "Oh! I, uh, I didn't mean…"

"It's okay." Andromeda waved a hand at him in dismissal. "I know. And we _are_ rich—it's not wrong to say it." She looked thoughtfully at the last bit of wine in her goblet, then drained it, and rose to her feet. "Come on, Luke."

"Where are we going?" He hurried to stand as she began to walk, and Jackson scrambled to follow.

"There's this silly dance my parents are making us do. You'll dance with me, won't you?"

"I, um, I mean, I don't really know how."

"It's not hard. Don't worry." She smiled at him brilliantly and he felt the sudden assurance that dancing would not be difficult at all.

They had entered the dance floor and were approaching a group of students, among which were Andromeda's siblings, when one of the girls saw them (at a distance, Luke could not tell whether it was Psyche or Theia, and was not sure he would be able to tell even up close) and detached herself from the group, running over with bare feet and flying silks to seize Luke's hand.

"Dance with me!" she cried breathlessly, and then Luke knew that it was Theia.

"Um," he said, glancing at Andromeda. "Gee, Theia, that sounds great, but—"

"But _he_ was going to ask _you_ ," interrupted Andromeda. "Really, Theia, you've got to be more patient."

Theia beamed at Luke, who was confused but willing to accept what Andromeda had said. He cleared his throat. "Theia, would you, uh, dance with me?"

" _Yes!_ " she squealed, almost before he had finished the question. Her silk toga was pale green, and she wore a net of fine gold chain in her hair, but other than that, she was still very difficult to tell apart from her sisters. She cleared her throat, biting her lower lip delicately, and said, "I mean, yes, Luke, that would be nice."

"That's better," said an adult voice behind Luke, and he turned in surprise to see the quintuplets' mother watching them with a smile. Her artfully-arranged toga was soft white bordered with silver, her hair in an elaborate braided updo, and when she came closer and extended a hand to Luke, he caught again the scent of the same flowery perfume she had worn the first time he had seen the Day family, in Dragontooth Square. "I'm Linda Day," she said. "You must be Lucas."

She held out her hand not with the palm sideways, as Luke would have expected for a handshake, but with the palm down and fingers limply extended, and he was not sure how to react. He took her fingers awkwardly in his hand and bobbed his head, to which she responded with a smile. "Nice to meet you," he said.

"My girls speak highly of you, Lucas. Andi is very glad to share her classes with you."

"Oh, well, yeah, it's nice to be with a friend."

The woman extended a pale arm to touch Andromeda's hair. "My little rebel," she said in a tone of gentle teasing, and looked back at Luke. "The other four are all Phoenixes, you know. Two golds and two silvers, but all Phoenixes. Charon is, as well. Andi just had to be different."

"Mother," murmured Andromeda, but she did not look embarrassed. There was frank affection between mother and daughter, and it gave Luke a funny aching feeling somewhere behind his diaphragm. Andromeda glanced at him and he tried to compose himself quickly, but thought that she must have seen something in his face, because she immediately pulled Jackson forward. "Mother, this is Jack, Luke's foster brother."

"Ah, yes, Doctor Lunsford's young relative. Lovely to meet you."

She gave Jackson a dazzling smile—her daughters could not yet produce such an effect, but Luke had a feeling that they were well on their way. "Now, girls," she said to her daughters, "have you found your partners? It's almost time for the dance, and then we can get to the cake."

"Luke has asked me," said Theia, threading her arm through his.

Mrs Day nodded. "And you, Andi?"

Luke saw the racing flashes behind Jackson's eyes that meant one of his instant decisions. The boy stepped forward and bowed again to Andromeda, then held out his hand. "Andi, I mean, Andromeda," he said, "may I have this dance?"

Theia giggled, but Andromeda smiled, and in that moment Luke thought she looked like a queen. She looked, in fact, rather like the woman she would become, grave and beautiful. "Yes, I'd love to," she said, and put her hand in his.

"Wonderful," said Mrs Day, and clapped her hands twice, sharply.

The lutes and lyres began a more sedate, flowing melody that reminded Luke of running water. The floor was cleared of everyone except the quintuplets and their dance partners, who shared bows (the Day children gracefully, their partners somewhat less so) and began to dance. It was nothing complicated, but Luke was gritting his teeth—even the simplest dance moves were opaque to him, and he was worried he would make a fool of himself and, by extension, Theia. But either he was more capable than he had thought or Theia was an expert at guiding his movements—he suspected the latter—for the dance went very smoothly and by the end he was smiling.

"Wow," he said amidst the polite applause that followed. "That was fun. Thanks, Theia."

Theia bit her lip again, smiling so hard her face looked about to split, and then leaned forward quickly and kissed him on the cheek. The applause increased, joined by laughter and cheers, and Theia flounced off to join her siblings for the cake-cutting. Red in the face and unsure whether to be angry, embarrassed, pleased, or some combination of the three, Luke shouldered his way against the crowd that followed and went back to the circle of cushions where he had been earlier. It was deserted and he sat by himself. The massive cake was visible on the green-carpeted staircase at the back of the hall, and Principal Zander was making some sort of speech.

"Not interested in cake?"

Luke looked up and saw Doctor Lunsford, leaning against the wall in a long wine-colored toga. He almost smiled, and then with creeping horror he realized that he had almost forgotten what Lunsford had done to his brother; the anger swept through him again and he looked away quickly, concentrating on the cake—which was now being cut with five knives simultaneously, wielded by the beaming quintuplets—and did not move when Lunsford took a cushion beside him.

"Lucas, I'm sorry. I know that you're hurt by the situation with your brother. But you have to try to see our side of things. We're only trying to protect you, and everyone else here. Is that such a terrible thing?"

Luke pressed his lips together and said nothing. People were milling around eating cake and talking, and more widespread dancing had begun, mostly upperclassmen and some faculty. Luke recognized the tall bespectacled man who had advised him to take Arithmancy dancing with Vice-Principal Redding, who was giggling uncontrollably as they swept around the floor. He also saw Doctor Yancey, who wore a toga of deep gold that left one shoulder bare. Without her usual high-heeled shoes, she was surprisingly short.

Lunsford made some small sound in his throat and Luke shot him a curious, suspicious glance. But Lunsford wasn't looking at him; he was looking across the room, at Doctor Yancey. Luke was on Lunsford's good side but the man's mouth was still pulled down, this time in a deep frown. Luke had recently become acquainted with desperation and thought he recognized it in Lunsford's eyes.

"Ask her to dance," he said.

Lunsford twitched and looked away. "I can't," was all he said.

"Why not? Are you chicken?" Luke was a little ashamed of the tone he was taking, but didn't seem able to stop.

"No," said Lunsford. "You don't understand. I can't."

"That's a stupid reason. No, wait, it's not even a reason at all." Lunsford looked at him sharply and, with an effort, Luke managed to swallow hard and keep his voice down. He had almost been shouting. "That's your answer to everything, isn't it? 'Ask her to dance.' 'I can't.' 'Let my brother keep his memories.' 'I can't.' It's just _stupid_. Can't you _do_ anything?"

He could not remember ever feeling so angry, and he did not know how to deal with the confused, almost hurt look on Lunsford's face. It struck him as improper, an expression that no adult should ever wear, and suddenly he had to get away. He stood up too quickly and nearly tripped on the hem of his toga, but kept his feet and hurried around the circumference of the tier to the back doors. The greenhouses stood dark and silent in the seclusion of their meadow, and Luke was glad to leave the light and noise of White Hall behind. The moon had risen over the shoulder of the mountain and glinted silver on the twisted, irregular panes of glass that made up the greenhouse walls.

Luke walked randomly along the cobbled paths. He had the vague, uneasy feeling that he had been unfair, but when he tried to reason his way through it, his anger took over again until he was certain that he had been correct, but then the anger would ebb and the doubts would creep back in. Eventually he gave it up and sat down so that his back was leaning against one side of Greenhouse Four. The growing things inside made a continuous, pleasant rustling and at last he was able to relax.

A memory from long ago hit him then, blinding-bright: his father taking him out into the field to show him where a killdeer was nesting. When they had gotten close enough, the mother bird had tried to distract them and lead them away from the nest by pretending to have a broken wing, but they had crept close enough to see the tiny speckled eggs. "Mamas always protect their babies," his father had said, and when they had gone back inside Luke had given his mother a hug—his mother with the crinkly lines by her eyes when she smiled, and the perfume that smelled like apples, and the scar on her arm where a fishhook had caught from one of Mark's first casts, and suddenly Luke was crying.

"I just want to go home," he said to the empty air, but the only reply was the growing certainty in his heart that he already was home, and what he was remembering no longer existed.

"Lucas?"

Luke wiped his face hurriedly with the sleeve of his robe and stood, brushing off the dirt. It was Lunsford, standing some distance away but looking anxious. "What do you want?" asked Luke.

"I wanted to show you something," said Lunsford. "Will you come with me?"

Luke sighed, feeling too tired to refuse. "Fine."

Lunsford produced a ring of keys from one of his sleeves and opened the door to Greenhouse Four, and Luke followed him inside. It was larger than Greenhouse One where Luke had his Botany class, and was divided into sections, the contents of which were difficult to determine in the shadowy evening. Near the back there was a wall of cunningly-fitted stones, and its single door was crossed by half a dozen chains that glowed silver in the darkness. Lunsford took out his wand and tapped the point at which these chains crossed, speaking a quiet incantation or password that Luke did not hear. The chains relaxed and the door swung open.

The room was about ten feet square, and was entirely taken up with a tangled mass of sticks and straw. It was accompanied by a powerful smell, some spice that Luke did not immediately recognize. "What is it?" he asked after a moment.

"What does it look like?" returned Lunsford.

Luke swallowed his stubborn annoyance and looked again, and then he thought of the orioles that had nested in the big maple in their lawn. "I guess it looks like a nest," he said.

"Exactly." Lunsford smiled, and Luke realized that the man was excited. He stepped forward carefully onto part of the massive nest and reached into a depression in its center, a sort of cave formed among the mess. What he retrieved looked immediately exotic: it reminded Luke of the props they had used for the gold, frankincense, and myrrh in his church's Christmas plays, an ornate gilded container with a heavy hinged lid. Lunsford held it out and Luke took it gingerly. It felt warm in his hands.

"Do you know what you're holding?" said Lunsford.

"No," said Luke, forgetting his anger for the moment. "I thought it was going to be an egg."

"Oh, but it is…sort of." Lunsford smiled again, and touched the lid of the container almost reverently. "This urn holds the ashes of a phoenix, Lucas. It was brought to Emerald Hill one hundred seventy-two years ago, from Madagascar. We've been waiting and waiting for the time to be right, and all the signs say that this spring will be perfect—witches and wizards will come from all over the world to witness this. We're going to take the nest onto the mountainside and light it, and watch the birth of a phoenix."

Luke was awed. He sat on the side of the nest, which sank somewhat but held, and for a moment simply marveled, finally understanding the gentle heat that radiated through the metal and glass of the container. "I thought phoenixes were reborn right away. When the first one dies."

"Not always," said Lunsford, also taking a seat on the edge of the nest. "When the conditions aren't right, or there is danger or another reason to delay, the phoenix can lie dormant for a very long time. A sphinx warned the wizarding world of the existence of these ashes, and an expedition was sent to recover them before they were scattered, or destroyed, or found by Muggles. Wyoming was still nearly deserted back then, so the ashes were given into the safekeeping of Emerald Hill until the time came for the birth. No one expected it to take this long, of course, but these things are rarely predictable. Principal Zander himself was part of the committee that returned to the sphinxes last winter to consult with them, and they're quite certain that this spring is the time. Late March, or maybe early April. Very few humans are privileged to witness such a thing, Lucas. We're very fortunate."

"How many of the students know?"

"None, yet. Principal Zander will be making the announcement when everyone returns from Christmas break."

Luke looked up. "Why are you showing it to me, then?"

Lunsford continued looking at the urn, his eyes distant. "Sometimes the things we hope for are like this phoenix. They have to be put aside in a safe place until the right time comes for them to be given life. You hope for a world in which Mark, even though he's not a wizard, can at least share these experiences through your letters, as any brother would want. We all hope for that. But while the Dark Lord lives, that world cannot be. If we tried to create that world now, it would be destroyed. We have to keep it in our hearts, and keep waiting until the conditions are right. The time will come, Lucas. But that time is not here yet."

Luke laid his hands on the sides of the urn and bowed his head, fighting against fresh tears. But when Lunsford reached out and touched his shoulder, he tightened instinctively.

"Please forgive me," the man said quietly. "This was not done to hurt you."

Luke stood and put the urn on Lunsford's lap. "I can't," he said, and walked away.

* * *

He meant to leave the party unnoticed, but Andromeda stopped him. She was smiling until she saw his face. "What's wrong?"

Luke forced a smile. "Nothing. I'm fine. This is a great party."

"Thanks." She looked at him for a moment, and then recovered her cheer and held out her wrist, where the charm bracelet Luke had chosen tinkled musically. "It's beautiful!" she said. "You even put a little fox on there, because we're both Kitsunes, right?"

"Yeah." Andromeda's had been the only bracelet Luke had been able to personalize at all; he knew very little about the other two girls. "I'm glad you like it."

"I really do." She bit her lip, twisting her fingers together. "Are you _sure_ you're okay? You look upset."

She looked so concerned that Luke almost spilled the story of his encounter with Lunsford, right there in the very crowded White Hall. He was not sure what restrained him—propriety, perhaps, not wanting to ruin her birthday, or maybe shame for what he had done, which was already creeping in through his haze of self-righteousness. But after an awkward hesitation he simply said, "Happy birthday," and left. It took him nearly ten minutes to dig his shoes out of the enormous pile.

* * *

That night he dreamed of standing beside a bonfire and watching wings of flame rise into the sky. When he woke up, his cheeks were wet.


	17. Chapter 17

"That's the stupidest costume I ever heard of."

"I don't care. It's going to be great."

"What are you gonna do, hang vines all over yourself?"

" _No_. Don't be obtuse."

"Blah blah blah, Miss Big-Words."

"Hey, knock it off," said Luke, "I'm trying to research."

"You already know everything about dinosaurs." Jackson half-sprawled across the table to pull down the top of Luke's book so he could see the pages, which showed a detailed drawing of a Stegosaurus. "Why do you need to research?"

"I have to decide which one I wanna be. It's hard."

"Oh come _on_ , Luke, I already said we should be Peachy Carnehan and Daniel Dravot. You can even be Daniel Dravot, and wear a crown and stuff!"

"But no one would know who we were. We'd have to explain it all night, and I hate that."

"That's not true, everyone on the plane from New York saw the movie."

"Okay, so all the freshmen know who we are and all the upperclassmen make fun of us all night. That sounds great."

"Fine. You be the Stego-whatsus and I'll be the T-Rex, and I'll jump out at you all night and take bites out of your costume."

"Here!" said Theia, rather breathless as she and Psyche walked over with armfuls of books, and dumped them across the table. "These have a bunch of drawings and photos, Andi."

"Hey!" cried Jackson, retrieving his Botany notes from under the pile.

Luke smiled and returned to studying the Stegosaurus page. They were in the third basement level of the Agramatha Memorial Library, reading by the light of skull-sized globes of light that were charmed to follow the students, waiting in a cluster to either side of the main doors and jostling eagerly for position when anyone entered. The general lighting was rather dim, but the brightness of the globes could be adjusted by voice commands. It was mid-October and the main topic on everyone's mind was Halloween costumes. Emerald Hill loved holidays. For Halloween the entire campus would be decorated, and there would be a haunted trail in the underground tunnels staffed by teachers in scary costumes, not to mention lots and lots of candy. It was a point of honor among students to create unique and elaborate costumes.

Andromeda, Theia, and Psyche planned to dress as different flowers, and began at once to pore through the books to find just the right blooms. Luke watched them for a moment over the top edge of his book, and marveled anew at how very much alike they looked. The shadows from their globe lights were such that he could not see the mole on Andromeda's cheek by which he usually identified her, and suddenly he couldn't remember whether she had been sitting on the left or right, or in the middle. It was a strange feeling, like the optical illusions he had seen where the picture looks like one thing but could also be seen as another, and how you could only see either one thing or the other but never both at the same time. He shook his head and returned to his diagrams of dinosaurs, which seemed much more comprehensible than the giggling of girls.

"Are you _sure_ you don't want to do Daniel Dravot and Peachy Carnehan?" asked Jackson.

Luke put down his book, and had to laugh at Jackson's shred of hope. "Okay, okay, _fine_ ," he said. "But I'm Daniel Dravot."

"Yes! Okay! I'm gonna wear the red coat with the buttons. Oh, and a fake rifle! Should I make one or could we find it in Red River?"

"I bet they have one in the theater department," said one of the three identical girls (Luke had no idea which). "Probably even an old British military coat like you're talking about. You should go check."

"Okay! Thanks, Psyche!" Jackson was on his feet and tugging at Luke's arm before Luke had even stacked the books on dinosaurs he had taken from the shelves. The two globes of light that had claimed the boys at the entrance zipped along behind their shoulders as they ran down the corridors created by the twenty-foot shelves, dodging in and out among the other students. The library was entirely underground, four stories that stretched beneath the mountain; even its main entrance was in one of the tunnels that branched off beneath White Hall. They had been on the third floor down and rode the elevator—charmed, not mechanical—to the entrance level.

"How did you know that was Psyche?" Luke asked once they were on the elevator and he could catch his breath.

Jackson shrugged, shifting impatiently from one foot to the other. "Because it was."

"Yeah, but how can you tell them apart? They even _sound_ the same."

"Luke, man, you just gotta pay attention!"

And then they were at the entrance and Jackson was running again. Luke hitched up his bag on his shoulder and jogged along behind. He felt he had as much energy as any other kid their age, but Jackson was in another league entirely; he seemed to radiate excess energy, and having to be still for any length of time nearly made him burst. Luke wondered how Jackson managed to sit through any of his classes.

The theater department had its own building and looked like a miniature version of White Hall, two wings on either side of a central hub. But here the central hub was an open-air auditorium, partially sunken into the ground, and hunched up against the side of the mountain basin to help with acoustics. It could only house a fraction of the student body at a time—the theater department was neither large nor popular, and notoriously not very good—but the columns were made of bronze-bound cedar and the seats were carved directly from the stone bowl of the mountain, and it looked impressive.

The backstage area was a cave in the mountainside, and the harried-looking theater director was rushing back and forth in an attempt to control, or at least organize, the dozens of students who had also had the idea to raid the theater for costume supplies. "You too?" he said, spying Luke and Jackson at the stage entrance, and then simply waved them on.

But the director had obviously been at least somewhat prepared for the onslaught, because the costumes and materials were lined up in a maze of racks lit by fitful, half-hearted glow charms. The cavern-like space was abuzz with eager exclamations and the metal-on-metal grating of the hangers moving on the racks, and Luke took a moment to marvel at the sheer variety laid out before them: a lacy wedding dress beside a hairy gorilla suit, velvet capes and cheesecloth ghosts and white doctor's smocks, five shelves of rubber masks and a pile of plastic weapons from fencing rapiers to futuristic laser-guns. The place had an air of secrecy, almost intimacy; it smelled of dust and sweat and old wood, and another darker, musky odor that Luke could not identify. He liked the place, but it made him feel like an intruder.

Jackson marched confidently into racks, craning his neck and hopping to see over to the next row. "You've been here before?" asked Luke, ducking under a cape that an upper-term student swirled out from the rack with enthusiasm.

"Sure," said Jackson, his voice muffled as he half-burrowed his way between a puffy pirate-style shirt and leather cowboy chaps. "Don't you ever explore?"

"No," said Luke, amused. "I study."

"Oh. Well, that's important, too. Hey, go look over there and see if you can find a white robe like Daniel Dravot wore when he was king."

Luke wandered aimlessly—there must have been _some_ sort of order to the racks, he felt sure, but he couldn't see it and soon gave up trying. Before long he had an armful of white robes that would work well for a Daniel Dravot costume, though he would have to pin up the hem and sleeves, and was hunting for additions to the outfit when he reached the back corner of the labyrinth and saw the ladder.

It was made of crudely-nailed two-by-fours and looked old and unreliable, leading up to a loft space whose plywood floor was rotted through in several places visible from below. It gave off the impression of being both dangerous and off-limits, and therefore Luke had the immediate urge to climb the ladder. Perhaps it was Jackson's unintentional jab about Luke never exploring, or perhaps it was the inclination to sneak and trespass inherent in all young and adolescent boys; Luke didn't think to question it, and wouldn't have known the answer anyway. He piled the white robes on the floor and edged over to the ladder, poking it experimentally with the toe of his shoe and then shaking it lightly to test its stability. When he was reasonably confident that it wouldn't collapse into dust under his weight, and when everyone visible was otherwise distracted, he made his move.

He was a strong climber, having practiced on trees for as long as he could remember, and his sneakers were quiet on the old two-by-fours. The plywood floor of the loft was moldy and precariously soft, but that also meant that it would not creak, and as long as he was careful about the rotted areas Luke did not think he would be perceived. He was wearing his dark grey Emerald Hill robes, and the only lighting in the loft was whatever flicker the glow charms sent up from the racks below. His class had learned in Charms just that week the word to make the tips of their wands glow, but a light would attract attention. Instead Luke turned his back on the glow charms and opened his eyes wide, waiting for them to adjust to the shadows.

He was disappointed at first—the loft space was no more than twenty feet square, and there were only a few boxes. In one corner, however, was a stack of wooden crates much older than the mold-speckled cardboard, and he began to make his slow careful way across the pitted floor, testing each step. The crates contained nothing that Luke could not have found among the racks and piles below: elbow-length leather gloves, a pair of hobnailed boots, a dusty bouquet of paper flowers, and so on.

The final crate had a fine layer of gritty dust on the top, and when Luke brushed at it with his hand, it gave him pause. It felt like finely crumbled stone. The edge of the loft abutted the raw wall of the mountain in which the backstage space was carved, and he put his hand against the stone, tracing a pattern of lichen with a finger. It drew his eyes upward, and then he saw it, old and worn but still clear—a carved foothold in the rock wall.

He stood and reached upward as high into the gloom as his arms would reach, and felt another foothold, and a third, a rough ladder leading upward. His heart beat faster. Glancing behind, he felt he was far enough from the edge of the loft that no one might notice a little light, and so he drew his wand out of the pocket sewn into the sleeve of his robe and held the tip close to his mouth. " _Lumos_ ," he whispered, and the wand responded with a soft glow. Raising it high, Luke could see that there were fifteen or twenty niches carved in the stone, and above them was a shadowy smudge, a cave opening about six feet high and ten wide.

The wall was vertical and he ended up having to hold the lit wand in his teeth, needing all of his fingers to cling to the footholds. Halfway up his hand disturbed a spider and he nearly cried out, jerking back his arm, and had to rest for a moment, breathing deeply to calm himself before continuing. The cave at the top turned out to be fairly shallow, only about twenty feet deep, but the cobwebs told Luke that no one had been up here for some time, and he felt the thrill of a pioneer as he knelt in the entrance. He was a great explorer, challenging the unknown as he held his torch aloft. For a moment he _was_ Daniel Dravot, peering into the treasure trove of the Kafiri priests, and his imagination made the cavelet glow with chests of golden coins and massive uncut gems.

Then he blinked, and he was an eleven-year-old boy in the dusty attic of a theater, and the cave's only contents were several more of the wooden crates he had found below the ladder. Luke crawled forward and pried at the lid of the first crate; it came up easily, the nails pulling out of the time-softened wood. The crate was filled with packing straw and his fingertips buzzed with excitement, wondering what would be inside. In a place like this, it had to be something—well, something magical. That made him smile and he plunged an arm into the straw, pulling it aside to reveal…

Luke frowned, and leaned closer, angling his wand to get a better view. Another swipe of the straw, and suddenly his stomach clenched and muscles spasmed and then he _did_ cry out in horror and revulsion, for beneath the packing straw was a severed head, its empty eye sockets filled with blood.

The theater director was a stout man with nut-brown skin and flyaway hair of steel grey, with little round spectacles that perched precariously on the end of his nose. His name—as Luke learned from Doctor Abernathy's constant, irritated repetition—was Hendricks. "Hendricks," said the Strategy teacher, "sit down before you have a stroke."

" _Trespassing!_ " bellowed Hendricks, who had the rolling baritone of a one-time performer. "A heinous crime! No excuse!"

"Was there a sign on the ladder?" asked Abernathy, arms folded over his narrow ribs. "A rope to cordon off the area? Something, anything, that was perhaps removed before I arrived?."

Hendricks sputtered for a moment, casting darting glances around the area as though certain he would find something if he just kept looking. Finally—as Abernathy seemed to actually require an answer—the theater director was forced to say, "No. But—"

"Then this was nothing more than harmless exploration. It's his first year, Hendricks, he's never been back here before. If you had no sign and gave no verbal rules against it, he had no reason not to climb the ladder." Abernathy toed one of the rungs, which had broken beneath his weight when he had climbed to the attic platform. "Beyond plain common sense, that is."

Luke did not much enjoy being spoken of as though he were not in the room, but he knew better than to speak up when a tenured professor was defending him. He was perched on the edge of a costume trunk, jittering his knees nervously and wishing that Jackson had been allowed to stay; the rest of the students in the backstage area had been cleared out for Abernathy's investigation. Luke had been ashamed when Abernathy had returned from the attic, one of the crates hovering along beside him as he directed it with a wand, and the severed head had been revealed to be only a mask. It was a remarkably detailed mask, to be fair, and he thought that the hair attached to it had actually come from a human, but the face itself was ceramic, and the bloody eye sockets were nothing more than bubbles of wire netting painted red.

It was a mask made to look like the head of a sphinx. The nose was broad and flat and feline, the almond-shaped eyes set wide above sharp cheekbones. Whiskers made of stiff wire jutted out from rounded pads in the upper lip and beside the temples, and the human-looking hair that made a widow's peak on the forehead was long and black, with leonine ears made of leather sticking out. There were other masks, and further accouterments in the other crates to complete each costume: one for each of the totem animals of Emerald Hill.

Muttering to himself, Hendricks lifted the unicorn mask and began polishing the horn—which looked to be made from solid mother-of-pearl—on a sleeve of his robes. Abernathy lifted the sphinx mask and grunted. "Artistic license," he said to no one in particular. "Sphinxes have black eyes."

Now that the worst of it was over, Luke dared to speak. "Sir," he said to Doctor Abernathy, "what are these costumes for?"

"Ceremonial," said Abernathy. "Used to welcome the spirits to the school back when the Heart Ring was installed. I've heard about them—apparently they used to pull them out every year for graduation. But that hasn't been done in a long time. Didn't know they were still here."

"Of _course_ they're still here," said Hendricks, glaring at them both. "They're antiques. Very delicate."

"Oh." Luke was disappointed. "I…sort of wanted to wear one for Halloween."

Both the professors looked at him them, and Abernathy gave a wry half-smile. "Let me guess," he said, eyeing the badge on Luke's robes. "The kitsune."

"Well, yeah."

" _Out_ of the question!" roared Hendricks.

"For once, I must agree with my colleague," said Abernathy. "These are special, oh, what's-your-name, Baxter. But they probably deserve better than sitting in boxes in a cave. Maybe we'll have them cleaned and put on display in White Hall."

"I, of course, will oversee the process." Hendricks puffed out his barrel of a chest. "We'll need special brushes, and touch-up paint, and combs for the fur…"

"After, of course, you get permission from Zander."

"Well, yes, that goes without saying. We'll start with the dragon, it's the largest, one whole crate to itself…"

Abernathy put a hand on Luke's shoulder and steered him toward the exit, while Hendricks, entirely mollified by the idea of such a project, went on talking to himself. "You shouldn't have done it, anyway," said Abernathy as they walked.

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

"Not good enough. Look, Baxter, if you're going to be a rule-breaker, you'd better be smart enough not to get caught. You may not be cut out for that sort of career here."

"Well, I, uh, I didn't mean to—"

"Get caught, and there are consequences." Abernathy stopped just short of the double doors that led outside, and faced Luke. "Steer clear of the theater department for the rest of the semester, Baxter. That's official."

"Oh. Yes, sir. But—"

"Furthermore, if you're caught in an off-limits area again this term—and it _was_ off-limits and you knew it, even if there was no sign—if you're caught again, you'll be put on two weeks' in-house suspension. Confined to your dorm. Understood?"

Luke tightened his jaw. Why did he feel like crying? Stupid—something a baby would do. "Yes, sir."

Abernathy leaned in close, his beak-like nose inches from Luke's own. Beneath bushy red eyebrows, his eyes were a faded blue. "So if you plan to live a life of crime, do us all a favor and _don't_ … _get_ … _caught._ "

Luke said nothing—would agreeing be an admission that he wanted to be a criminal? But without another word, Abernathy flung open the doors and descended the steps. The students crowded there parted before him like the Red Sea before Moses, and he did not so much as glance at them.

"What happened?" Jackson came pushing through the crowd, his arms full of white robes, a red jacket, boots, and a plastic rifle. The rest of the students began to filter back in to the theater to continue looking for their costumes (and, dimly, Luke could hear Hendricks squawking at them to keep back, keep back). "Are you in trouble?"

"Banned from the theater for the rest of the semester."

Jackson grinned. "Atta boy."

"So you thought Hendricks was some sort of murderer? Or maybe You-Know-Who dropped off some luggage?" Julian Tate, another first-term Sky Kitsune, pushed his goggles up onto his forehead, smirking. He had skin the color of chocolate milk, which made his teeth look even whiter.

"I don't know," said Luke, pulling a swim fin onto his left foot. It all sounded silly now, in the bright afternoon. His Botany class was going snorkeling in the pond to harvest gillyweed, and Doctor Danderben was gabbling excitedly as he stood at the end of the dock, wearing a full-body bathing suit of garish red and white stripes that gave him the effect of a giant candy cane. "It was dark up there. I only had my wand for light."

"I wish I could have seen them." Andromeda had her elbows resting on the dock, and kicked her legs languidly in the water. "They sound beautiful."

"Well, I guess Hendricks is gonna fix them up and display them in White Hall. They were great—the best costumes I've ever seen. But if they were used back when the school opened, they must be really old."

"Over three _hundred_ years old," said Julian before hopping off the side of the dock, splashing Luke and Andromeda thoroughly, which made Luke wince. He thought it was a little late in the year for outdoor swimming, but Danderben had been dismissive when another student had suggested as much. "Nonsense. It's good for you!" the little man had cried. "Puts hair on your chest!" The only thing this water was putting on Luke's chest was goosebumps.

"Come on, now, everyone in the water!" the teacher was shouting. With a smile and a wave, Andromeda ducked below the surface and kicked her way under the dock to the far side. Luke adjusted the goggles over his eyes, held his nose, and slipped off the dock.

The shock of cold gripped him like a giant's fist around his torso, but after a few moments of careful treading he felt the blood flow in his arms and legs return to normal. Popping the snorkel into his mouth, he plunged his face into the water and floated on his stomach, letting his eyes follow the beams of sunlight down into the murky green depths. Swimming was a kind of flying, he thought, and one that he was actually good at. There had been a pond on their property in North Carolina, and he and Mark had spent hours of every warm day paddling around in Mark's hand-carved canoe or seeing who could stay underwater the longest, a game that had often driven their mother to panic.

With a little bag of woven reeds slung around his arm, Luke easily dove to the bottom where the gillyweed was cultivated and plucked the slimy baseball-sized clumps from their stems. At the end of the session Doctor Danderben praised him for gathering the most, and the sting of Abernathy's unexpected punishment finally faded. Who needed to go into the theater department, anyway? After all, Jackson had already collected everything they needed for their costumes.

But Luke never forgot the thrill of the discovery of the cave, nor the fright of first seeing the sphinx mask. Even in the revealing light of the backstage area, held safely in Abernathy's hands, the detailed masks still looked like severed heads to him.


	18. Chapter 18

Luke's first reaction was to laugh, and hurt and defiance chased each other across Jackson's face like the shadows of clouds. "It's not my fault it's so big!" he said, fiddling self-consciously with the belt; he had cut an extra hole into it far beyond the others, to make it cinch around the jacket at his waist. "They didn't have any smaller ones."

"No, Jack, I'm sorry." But Luke couldn't keep the smile from his face. Jackson's British military jacket had been rolled three or four times at the sleeves so that his hands would show, and the hem hung nearly to his knees. The gold buttons and black boots had been polished to a high shine, and Jackson's unruly hair—it had grown out since their arrival and he hadn't bothered to have it cut—had been powdered to look blonde and slicked back with some equally shiny substance. He held himself very straight and correct, but still looked like a five-year-old trying on his father's coat.

"Dancy had to sew me into the pants," Jackson said in a tone of confession.

"What?" Luke paused with one sandal half-laced and looked at Jackson. "Dancy?"

"Yeah. You know, the Royal Dragon girl with the hair—"

"I know who she is. You actually chum around with her?"

"Well, yeah. So?"

"But she's so…" Luke searched for a balance of tact and truth. "I thought you were scared of her."

"I am. Now come _on_ , aren't you ready? You look ready. It's time to go!"

Luke hitched up his white robe—he had hemmed it with clumsy stitches but it was still a little long—and followed Jackson down the steps of the Kitsune dormitory. It was bitterly cold outside and the air had a sharpness to it that Luke associated with approaching snow, but no one seemed bothered by the weather.

Emerald Hill, like its students, was dressed for Halloween. Students had been confined to their dormitories from noon until sundown so that the grounds could be prepared. There were no electric lights beyond the dormitory buildings themselves. Glowing jack-o'-lanterns of all sizes hung in the air beside the paths, their faces ranging from silly to genuinely frightening. There were tall candelabra by the hundreds, and a great bonfire had been lit in the Joining Glade, its column of smoke dimming the stars. Crepe streamers and fake cobwebs were strung from nearly every tree on campus. The professors, stationed here and there, were dressed as Dementors, Jackson explained in a hurried, can't-be-bothered way. They wore identical robes of shabby, ragged grey, their faces hidden by cowls, hands painted bone-white with weeping sores, and the thought of a wizarding prison guarded by such creatures made Luke shiver. Some played their role better than others—a Dementor that Luke was fairly certain was Doctor Abernathy sent students screaming, but Ms Redding's frizzy hair was escaping from her cowl and she giggled more than she gibbered.

The Quidditch field was a carnival, full of colored-paper lanterns and booths run by upperclassmen. There were games, both traditional (bobbing for apples, a dunking booth) and unknown to Luke (Horntail Humbug, Witch-Hand-Wizard-Hand), and prizes to be won at each, from trinkets to stuffed animals to the most beautiful Quidditch broom Luke had ever seen, a top-of-the-line Nimbus that was to be granted to the student who found the deactivated Golden Snitch hidden somewhere on the grounds.

And everyone was in costume. There were goblins and clowns and kings and Quidditch stars, there were mimes and monsters and ghosts and fairies, there were creatures of every sort, simple painted-face cats and elaborate Chinese lions with four pairs of legs beneath their bobbing bodies. Luke didn't spy a single student not participating—a small group dressed quite normally surprised him at first, until he realized that they were dressed as Muggles, which he found clever but a little offensive. To Luke's delight, almost everyone who noticed him and Jackson recognized their costumes without the boys having to explain; apart it might have been trickier, but standing together they were obviously the characters from the popular movie and Luke felt proud, puffing out his chest and talking in as deep a voice as he could muster.

They found the Day quintuplets buying candied apples and horns of pumpkin juice in the carnival. Aristaeus and Paris had come as a circus master and his dancing bear, and were giving brief performances to whoever tossed them a few coins. The girls had come dressed as a red tulip, a golden sunflower, and purple lilac, their faces painted and their arms wound with stems, their robes covered artfully with bark and grass. Andromeda's distinguishing mole was hidden beneath paint and glitter, and Luke had no idea which bloom was her until they moved. The tulip ran to him squealing and he knew that was Theia; the lilac hung back with a shy smile and he knew that was Psyche; which left Andromeda as the smiling sunflower.

"You two look amazing!" cried Theia, straightening Luke's crown and shoving a candied apple into his hands. Luke was pulled along in her wake, and absently picked the crushed pecans off of his treat before taking a bite.

"We're going to the haunted trail, Luke," said Andromeda. "Want to come along?"

Jackson whooped with excitement and waved his plastic rifle in the air. "Oh hell _yes!_ Let's go!" Everyone laughed, and their group grew considerably as they followed the posted signs toward the _Trail of Terror_.

Emerald Hill's connecting tunnels had been closed off for a week so that the haunted trail could be prepared. Luke had heard a group of older Kitsune students say that the teachers tried every year to outdo the frights of previous trails, and he was both excited and nervous about what might be waiting for them. He had never been the type to enjoy horror films or jump-and-scream gags, and he was worried that he might embarrass himself in front of the others. But the enthusiasm of his friends was contagious, and he didn't mind being swept along with them. At the very least, he could try to surreptitiously stay in the center of the group, and so have a protective buffer between him and whatever they found in the tunnels.

The entrance to the Trail of Terror was in White Hall, which had been turned into a dragon's den for the occasion. Coins, jewels, and other treasures were strewn about in enormous piles (which Jackson was very excited about, until his full-body leap onto a pile turned into a belly flop onto bare tile; the treasure was only an illusion), and the platform where the teachers normally ate was a huge nest of coals above which a paper-mâché dragon loomed, its teeth bared at the students who entered. The signs led them to the western wing, where there were several floors of classrooms, but the halls were roped off; the trail began at the stairwell that led underground.

Though Luke had not personally explored even half of Emerald Hill's network of tunnels, here under the main part of campus were tunnels that he had already used often and considered proven and familiar. However, tonight he was shocked; beyond the shabby gray curtain was nothing he had ever seen. Gone were the neatly squared walls paneled in warm brick, gone were the lamps, the plaques, the paintings. In their place was a cobwebby warren that looked as though it had been burrowed through mealy rock, lit only by slime-coated worms that glowed a sickly pale green as they quested across the pitted walls. Theia clutched Luke's arm, and for once he didn't mind having her so close. Jackson, full of confidence after the illusion of the dragon's hoard, swiped a hand at one of the worms and then squealed, leaping back into Aristaeus and Chester and staring at the phosphorescent goo on his fingers.

"Wow," said Paris.

"Eurgh," said a girl Luke didn't recognize.

They shuffled along in a close group, whispering and giggling nervously. Without the torches to provide warmth, their breath curled visibly from their mouths and hung in the damp, chilly air. Even the bright costumes of the Day girls seemed sapped of all their cheer.

Certain areas had been roped off as not part of the Trail of Terror, but all the same had not been excluded from the atmosphere; at the fork that Luke thought would lead toward the dormitories, there was a grate of rotted iron, and somewhere deep in the opaque darkness something snuffled and shuffled and they could hear the scrape of claws on stone. Here and there were scattered little piles of bones, and like the worms, these were either not an illusion or a very powerful illusion indeed, for they crackled and crumbled beneath the students' feet. The trail rose and dipped and twisted in ways that Luke did not think the normal Emerald Hill tunnels had ever done, and before long they had lost all sense of direction.

The eeriest part was the complete absence of the professors. Luke began to wish that the trail _had_ made use of jump-and-scream tactics. This was something very different—a slow, malevolent build of tension. Unseen fingers brushed across their cheeks, making the girls shriek. The floor clutched almost imperceptibly at his feet, making each step seem a burden. They were jumpy and irritable, though nothing had actually happened to them. Theia's face, pinched with nervousness, had become sallow, her cheeks hollowed, her eyes recessed…in fact, she had started to look very much like a skull. Her hair was falling out in patches. She looked at him, feeling the weight of his stare, and gasped in real horror. As the members of their group pulled their attention from their surroundings to each other, they cried out and broke apart: by some charm, the further they progressed down the Trail of Terror, the further they were transformed into monsters. There were zombies with patches of rotting flesh, werewolves with snouts bristling with coarse hair, mummies that shed gravedust with every movement.

" _Wow_ ," said Jackson, who had become a vampire with long canine teeth and glittering, predatory eyes. "Half your head is off, Luke. Nice brains."

Luke tentatively touched his hair, which was all in place; it was only an illusion. But it was powerful, and very unnerving. Paris, now a werewolf, dripped froth and slaver from toothy jaws. Andromeda was a mummy, her face half-obscured by ancient bandages, her one visible eye merely an empty socket where a few lonely maggots wiggled.

"You look disgusting," she said to Luke.

"Speak for yourself," he replied, and she laughed.

For a few moments they forgot their fear—or at least pretended to—and made mock-attacks at one another, banshees cavorting with zombies in some forgotten cave of the dead and damned. It would make a pretty fine horror movie, Luke thought as they made their way forward. _And the great races of horror, monsters of all shapes and sizes, put aside their differences and came together to the great Conclave of Evil_ …

" _Halt_."

Several of the children cried out and Luke's heart pounded heavily in his ears; he and Chester were at the front of the group and skidded to a stop. Twenty feet ahead of them the tunnel ended and appeared to expand into a cave, but it was very dark and Luke couldn't quite tell. Somewhere in that blackness, a figure moved, unclear, shrouded in shadow.

Jackson shouldered his way past Luke and drew his plastic sword. "Who goes there?" he shouted, jabbing at the empty air. "Show yourself, beast!"

"Beast?" The word was drawn out into a hiss— _beasssst_. "Have a care with your words, young human." A reddish glow appeared in the darkness, illuminating…

Luke recognized immediately the sphinx mask he had discovered in the theater, with its long hair and red mesh eyes. But none of the others had seen it, and there was a chorus of gasps. Luke smiled, a little sorry (but only a little) to be left out of the trick. Jackson sheathed his sword and gave the sphinx a very correct straight-backed bow. The sphinx face receded into darkness, and elsewhere in the cave another patch of light slowly appeared, revealing the face of a gryphon; the other creatures appeared in turn, and the cave was full of bestial mutterings and whispers.

The sphinx appeared again, this time the full-body costume, which was very impressive in the dim light and charged atmosphere. But this time it reared up, and brought both front paws down onto the cave floor with a massive _crash_. Instantly it was plunged into darkness again. The unicorn appeared, its horn shimmering as it stabbed into the empty chest cavity of a skeleton lying at its feet; the dragon gave an earth-shaking roar and a burst of flame that Luke thought might have singed his eyebrows; the kitsune hissed and snapped with a mouthful of vicious teeth; the gryphon screeched and tore savagely at another skeleton with its huge, sharp beak; the phoenix spread great wings to show the nest of molten lava on which it perched, in which was visible fragments of several more skeletons. Again the dim spotlight returned to the sphinx.

"Choose your doom," it said.

The students hesitated. Luke was jittery but excited, wondering what spectacle would follow. With a burst of motion that startled him, someone broke free from the group and walked forward—it was Andromeda, still looking like a shuffling, empty-eyed mummy. "So be it," she said, and as she approached the area where the kitsune had appeared, it faded back into existence, welcoming her with a glittering many-toothed grin. With a shrieking howl, it leaped up and enveloped her in shadow…and then she was gone.

"Andi?" called Psyche, sounding nervous. There was no reply.

With a bold whoop, Jackson ran forward, brandishing his sword again. He dashed to the sphinx, which reared up to meet him, and brought both mighty paws down upon his head…but Luke saw Jackson dart to the left just before the paws came down, and everyone heard Jackson's howl of surprise and pain. He was gone, however, and the creatures seemed unaffected by what might have happened. The remaining students, however, were shaken.

"That wasn't supposed to happen," said Aristaeus. "Something went wrong."

"What do we do?" asked someone else.

If the costumes concealed professors, they were apparently not inclined to break character. All was dark and motionless. Finally Luke, with a sheepish sort of wave in the direction of the kitsune, went forward to meet the sphinx. "I'll go to him," he said, looking into those empty red eyes, and did not move as the paws crashed down onto his head.

...Rather, they would have, had a trap door not opened beneath his feet. He heard the hollow _boom_ of the sphinx's paws somewhere above him as he slid down a chute at startling speed. The ride lasted nearly ten seconds, and then he was launched into the air and landed heavily in a yielding pile of bones which he could only hope were simulated. He rolled onto his back, brushing dust from his hair and clothes, and, looking around, spotted Jackson some distance away in the bone-filled cavern.

"Jack!" he called, and slid and tumbled down the pile, jogging across the stone to where Jackson—no longer a vampire, just a pint-sized Peachy Carnehan—stood with a professor Luke did not know. The professor had pushed back the cowl of his Dementor's robes and looked rather silly with his face painted black. "Broken arm," he said, and Luke saw that Jackson was cradling his left arm, sniffling rather shamefacedly; the sleeve of his red jacket had been carefully rolled back and the arm was cradled to his chest by a sling made from a piece torn from the professor's robe. "There's more to the Trail, but he'll be dropping out now. I'll take him to the med bay. Coming?"

"Yes, sir." Luke walked beside Jackson, and gave his shoulder an awkward pat. "You shouldn't have tried to dodge."

"I know. I was pretending it was real. I was gonna stab it, you know?"

"Yeah, like you'd stab a real sphinx."

"I could!"

"Could not."

"Definitely could _not_ ," interjected the professor with a smile. "Say, here's an idea. How would you boys like to be part of my act?"

And so it happened that Luke and Jackson limped across campus to the medical bay with chains on their wrists (only one of Jackson's wrists, of course), moaning and wailing, led by a Dementor that was utterly impassive to their entreaties. It was great fun, and Jackson, despite being pale from the pain, was able to laugh by the time they entered the mountain.

Cherrystone Medical Bay was built at ground-level in the northeastern mountain wall, just west of the dormitories. Immediately inside the doors were the nurses' quarters to the right and the doctor's office to the left; _Nicholas Close, DMM_ read the plaque on the door. Luke guessed that this stood for _Doctor of Magical Medicine_ , but didn't want to ask in case he was wrong.

"Doctor Nick is stationed on the Quidditch field," said the professor, "but one of the nurses should be in." He was about to knock on the door to the nurses' quarters when the curtain directly opposite the entrance was pushed aside and a harried-looking young woman came through, peeling off white gloves. Her smock was covered with vivid purple stains. Seeing them, she stopped and smiled.

"Doctor Escher," she said. "I thought you were down in the Trail."

"Was. Small accident." The professor indicated Jackson, who looked up at her with eyes that seemed too large for his face.

"Broken arm?" asked the woman. "No problem, hun. Go on in and take a bed. And you?"

"Oh," said Luke, surprised, "no, I'm fine. Just staying with my friend."

"Fine. Go on in."

She went into the office and Luke and Jackson, urged on by a _shoo_ ing motion from Doctor Escher, pushed through the wine-colored curtain. The long room was lined with beds on either side, several of which were occupied. Luke saw several upperclassmen crowded around the bed of another, who appeared to be suffering an allergic reaction, and his friends were constantly admonishing him not to scratch at the hives that covered his body. A girl sat by the bed of what was clearly her younger sister; as they watched, the smaller girl vomited into the pot at the side of her bed, and Luke recognized the colorful liquid that had covered the nurse's smock.

Jackson chose a bed near the curtain and climbed on gingerly. Luke saw sweat beading his friend's brow. "Hurts a lot?" he asked.

"Yeah. I broke a toe once, but this is a lot worse. They…they can heal this, right? I won't have to wear a big cast?"

"I'm sure they can," said Luke, trying to be reassuring, though in truth he had no idea.

The nurse came bustling back in, using a small glass rod to stir something briskly in a glass, which gave off a roiling yellow smoke. "Drink it down, hun," she said, handing the glass to the little girl. "And don't trust candy made by students." The girl nodded, looking miserable, and sipped experimentally at the drink.

"Now!" The nurse came over to Jackson's bed and perched on a chair just beside it, smiling. She had long blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and a kind smile. "Your name and style? I'll have to write up a little report."

"Jackson Parker, Flame Sphinx."

"Very good." The nurse flicked her wand, and a clipboard, which had been hanging at the end of Jackson's bed, jumped into the air with an accompanying pen, which scribbled the information on the chart. "I'm Nurse Kirkland. Don't worry, a simple bone break can be repaired in a matter of minutes. May I see? I'll be gentle."

Jackson clenched his jaw and held out his left arm, which had an unnatural bump just above the wrist. Nurse Kirkland touched it with her fingertips, carefully turning it to feel the bones, and then nodded. "Yep, the ulna. Not a problem. Clean fracture, good angle. Should heal very well. Hold it still, Mister Parker." She took out her wand, ran it gently down the length of Jackson's arm, and then touched the very tip to the bump of protruding bone. " _Ossificus reparo_ ," she said.

The bump melted away. Jackson gasped, clutching the sheet with his good hand—which made Luke think that it must have hurt—but then it was over and he was flexing his fingers experimentally.

"See?" said Nurse Kirkland. "Nothing to it. Go easy on it for a couple of days, and it shouldn't give you any trouble. You can rest here for a while if you want, but you're free to go whenever you feel up to it."

Jackson was on his feet at once, scurrying for the door. It was Luke who paused at the curtain and turned to say "Thank you" to Nurse Kirkland.

She smiled. "You're welcome. Go on, go have fun."

Luke caught up with Jackson outside, beneath a floating pumpkin with a face carved to look as though it were vomiting, complete with pumpkin guts spilling out one side of the mouth. Jackson was rolling down the sleeve of his jacket, glancing around with an appraising look.

"Let's go find that Snitch," he said. It was as though the fear and pain of his accident had never happened at all. Luke was a little mystified, but grateful. "Sure," he said. "You'd better be the one to find it, if you want to be a famous Seeker someday."

Luke soon despaired of finding the Snitch, however, when it became clear how many other students were combing the grounds with the same purpose. A fairy queen, trailing lacy wings, had her attendants climbing trees to search every knothole. Doctor Frankenstein and his Monster had an extensive list of potential locations and were ticking them off one by one. On every path and in every meadow, through the outdoor classrooms and around every statue, were students in pairs and groups or alone, doggedly poking in every nook and cranny. Some of the older students even tried a Summoning spell with their wands, which apparently the professors had anticipated, because it didn't work. Jackson seemed oblivious to this activity and Luke watched him for a moment, how his careful searching movement made him blend in with all the others, and he knew that it would never work.

"Hey," he said, grabbing Jackson's arm. "Cut it out."

"What?" Jackson looked a little hurt. "I wanna find it, Luke, let me go."

"Listen." Luke leaned in close, not wanting the other students to hear. "You want to be a Seeker, right? Seekers don't just stumble onto the Snitch. They have a feel for it. It's like an instinct. Even if you found it by accident, it wouldn't be right. You know?"

Jackson nodded, dubious but waiting.

"So use your head, Carnehan. Where would _you_ hide a Snitch?"

Jackson's brow creased like a rumpled blanket and his eyes went slightly unfocused; one long finger scratched absently at his temple. It was a little alarming—Luke had never seen him so lost in thought, but he felt a rush of conviction and tried to tamp down his impatience. Students moved around them with candy and drinks, talking and laughing and shoving and searching, always searching.

When Jackson moved, it was so sudden that Luke was taken by surprise and had to run hard to catch up. His friend was bolting across the little meadow beside which they had paused, and vaulted the low stone wall at the far end. Luke jumped over less gracefully, skinning a knee as he landed, trying to keep sight of Jackson's red jacket through the milling students, but Jackson was small and quick and on a mission, and by the time Luke found him, it was already over.

A group of upperclassmen carried Jackson on their shoulders. The boy's face was flushed dark pink, and a huge, somehow beautiful smile stretched his face to its limits. In a clenched fist, held high over his head, Luke saw a dull glint—the Golden Snitch. He added his applause and cheers to the din that followed Jackson to the Quidditch field, allowing himself to be carried along in that flow.

"Where was it?" he asked, not talking to anyone in particular.

"In the nostril of the biggest dragon in the Joining Glade," an upper-term student told him. "Funny thing—I've seen kids looking in the dragon's mouth all night. They never thought to look in the nose."

But Luke knew it was more than that. At the age of eleven, Jackson Parker was a Seeker at heart.

The crowd was so dense that he couldn't get anywhere near the platform in the center of the field, but he climbed up into the stands until he had a clear view. Principal Zander himself took down the gleaming Nimbus from its pedestal and handed it to Jackson, whose face was shining with triumph and, despite the cold, perspiration. Luke felt a pang of jealousy and shoved it away. He didn't want to detract from Jackson's joy by feeling sour. It crept up on him nonetheless. Jackson had the promise of being a talented flyer and Quidditch player, and now he had a magnificent new broom to match his skill. Luke, on the other hand, had trouble keeping his lunch down when his broom gave the slightest wobble.

But it was hard to be jealous of the boy who shoved aside everyone else to embrace Luke. "You helped me," he said. "This is yours as much as mine." And he held out the Nimbus. Luke touched the handle reverently, and it felt as smooth as silk beneath his fingers.

"Nah," he said. "I just told you to think. You're the one who did the thinking."

A blush crept up Jackson's neck again, and he gave a nervous, proud glance at the students still crowding around them. "Well," he said, "you can use it for all of your extra practices. I mean it! It'll make you brave."

Luke grinned and slung an arm around Jackson's shoulders. "Come on, let's celebrate. I want to try some of that butterbeer."

* * *

 _Dear Mark:_

 _Halloween was fun. I was Daniel_ _Dravit_ _Dravvet (I'm not sure how to spell it) and Jackson was Peachy Carnahan from that movie The Man Who Would Be King. We had a good time. Jack even won a prize._

 _I miss you. Please tell me if you can come to Jack's house for Christmas. You can bring Kelly if you want._

 _Luke_


	19. Chapter 19

November first dawned clear and cold. Luke sat up and rubbed at the rime of frost that reduced the panes of his window to small circles, and saw that the campus was covered with a thin crust of snow.

It was a Friday, but being the day after Halloween, students and professors alike were given the day off to recover from the revelries of the previous night. Through the window Luke could see quite a few students already milling around in the snow, tossing snowballs at one another and laughing. And there—yes, there was Jackson, sitting on the steps of the Dragon dormitory with his new Nimbus across his knees, talking to Dancella Rondell. "Huh," Luke said aloud. Grimalkin, curled in a ball somewhere beneath his blankets, stirred and gave a sleepy _meow_.

Luke hurried to the bathroom to brush his teeth and use the toilet—which had an old-fashioned pull-rope to flush—and pulled on the long underwear that had come in a care package from Jackson's mother. Then jeans, t-shirt, sweater, and the heavy cloak that was standard Emerald Hill winter wear. He ran down the stairs in his socks, slipping a little on the polished wood as he jogged across the Den, and took a few minutes locating his boots in the wall of cubbies in the anteroom. He was surprised to find that the boots were a little tight; he would need a new pair soon.

Growing up in North Carolina, Luke could remember hoping for a white Christmas and often being disappointed. If it snowed at all in the winter in their area, it would not happen until January at the earliest, sometimes even February. But these were the Rocky Mountains, and Luke knew that it was unusual that the snow had taken so long to arrive. The campus glittered and shone, familiar shapes transformed into vague white humps. The statue of the kitsune at the foot of his dormitory steps was wearing a cloak of white, its muzzle grayed with age by a dusting of snow.

It was very cold and Luke was glad for the cloak, which had a high collar and loop-and-button fastenings from the neck to the base of the ribs. He skirted the edge of the courtyard, passing the Phoenix dormitory and pausing beneath the shadow of the life-sized dragon statue that guarded Dancella's building. The girl's hair stood out like a splash of blood against the white world, and though she didn't look particularly happy, she was sitting quietly and listening to Jackson chatter.

"…and so I ran toward the sphinx with my sword out, and I was supposed to stay right in front of it, because there was a trapdoor, but I didn't know and I kinda dodged over to the side, and bam, the floor goes out from under me and I fell, but because I wasn't right in the middle I banged my arm on the side. I could actually _feel_ it break. _Snap!_ " He laughed. Dancella did not move. "And then there was this long slide and I was just howling, because it hurt so much, and I curled up when I fell onto the pile of bones and there was a professor there, I don't remember his name, but he helped me up and wrapped up my arm so we could get to the med bay. Then Luke came after me, good old Luke, and Nurse Kirkland just fixed the broken bone, tap, whoosh, done! Wanna see?"

Jackson shoved aside his cloak, which looked very large on him, and pushed up the sleeve of his sweater to display the healed arm. There wasn't even a mark to show where it had been broken. He held it under Dancella's face, and to Luke's surprise, she didn't snarl and shove him away, but inspected the arm gravely. Of all the people he knew, Luke could not think of a single one less likely to be able to befriend that girl than Jackson, yet there it was. He liked Jackson very much, but thinking from Dancella's point of view, he couldn't imagine what _she_ liked about him.

He realized then that if Dancella looked up, it would seem as though Luke were spying on them. So he came out from the shadow of the statue, trying to look nonchalant. Dancella's head snapped up like a rabbit that has scented the hounds, and without a word to either of them she stood and marched down the steps, heading in the direction of campus.

"Bye, Dancy!" called Jackson, as though she had given him a friendly farewell, and grinned up at Luke. "Hey, wanna go to the Quidditch field and test out the Nimbus?"

"Sure." He held the broom as Jackson stood and dusted the snow from his pants.

The Emerald Hill campus was disguised under its new blanket of white. Despite the sun, the air was very cold, and the tip of Luke's nose tingled as they walked along the brick paths, which had been well salted to prevent a buildup of ice. He saw some upperclassmen having a snowball fight, and others carrying sleds and heading south, where the slope of the bowl containing the school was more shallow. Many people noticed the Nimbus, and several of them even followed Luke and Jackson toward the Quidditch field, wanting to see the debut of the beautiful broom. By the time they reached the field there were close to thirty students waiting for the launch, stamping their feet in the crusty snow. Luke heard one of them mutter something about "wasted on a little kid."

Luke handed the broom to Jackson, who gave the small crowd a careful sidelong look. Luke wondered if he had heard the older boy's comment. "Hey," he said, trying to distract Jackson from any nervousness, "I've never seen you fly before."

It worked; at once Jackson's attention was all on him. "Hey, that's right! Well, stand back, buddy, and let a pro show you how it's done."

Grinning, Luke did step back. With a flourish of his cloak, Jack threw one leg over the Nimbus and, without even a moment's hesitation, kicked off from the ground. He did not hover timidly, testing out the abilities of a brand-new broom, but soared at once in a sweeping parabola over the stands, reaching out to touch one of the golden goalposts in passing. The students shouted and clapped, even the boy who had been dubious. Jackson's cloak streamed behind him, whipping and snapping in the wind of his flight, and Luke could see a wild grin on his friend's face. Jackson dipped to skim his toes along the grass, and cut in a tight arc right around the little group of students, who gasped and cheered.

Watching him, Luke felt another stab of envy. This time he did not fight it, but tried to examine it, letting it seep slowly into his mind. He had never felt jealous of Mark; but then, Mark was a good deal older than Luke, and they had never really had anything to compete over. For all practical purposes, Jackson was now his brother, and he was proving to be more talented—in many ways—than his appearance or personality would suggest. Luke decided that it was natural for him to feel some jealousy, and that he wouldn't try to pretend that he didn't, but that neither would he allow it to affect his friendship with Jackson. Immediately he felt much better. He felt in control again.

"Magnificent," said someone beside him, startling Luke out of his thoughts. It was Doctor Lunsford. The man wasn't looking at him, but was watching his nephew fly with pride in every line of his face. "And perfect timing, too," he went on. "The star Seeker on the J.V. Sphinx team is a fourth-year sophomore, so next year he'll be moving up to Varsity. Jack has a real shot at making first-string Seeker next year." He smiled at Luke. "First Varsity game of the season is this Saturday. Dragon-Sphinx. Will you be there?"

Luke shrugged, noncommittal.

"I've invited Lionel to come out for the game. Don't tell Jack, though, it's supposed to be a surprise. I wish Mary and the girls could come, too, but rules about visitors are more strict these days."

He was trying, Luke could see that. Part of him wanted to respond, to just relax and accept the friendship of this man who was almost his uncle. But then he remembered Mark's face, and Lunsford's wand snapping up, wiping away memories…and he couldn't. He turned away, watching Jackson fly. After a few moments, Jackson came in to land, his cheeks, nose, and ears bright red from the cold.

"You should be wearing a hat!" admonished Lunsford, taking off his own scarf and wrapping it several times around Jackson's neck.

"Didja see me, Uncle Heath? You saw me, right?"

"Sure did. You're an amazing flyer, Jack. You'll make the team next year for sure."

Jackson puffed out his chest, and his face really did seem to glow. "Wanna come eat breakfast with Luke and me?"

"I've already eaten. I do have some extra butterbeer stashed away, though, if you get too cold later in the day."

They feasted on waffles with cold apple jelly, and Chester showed them how to spread the jelly and roll up the waffle, to be wrapped up and carried in their pockets for a mid-morning snack. All through breakfast, Jackson talked about the Nimbus, how smooth it handled and how he just knew it had a lot more speed in reserve, more than he was willing to try for yet. "You've gotta try it, Luke," he said, and a gentle spray of crumbs from his mouth pattered onto the arm of Luke's sweater. "Let's go back out and I'll teach you. You don't have to go high. Just give it a try."

And so ten-o'clock in the morning found Luke on the Quidditch field holding a top-of-the-line Nimbus 1000 and feeling sick to his stomach even with both feet on the ground. "Forget about them," said Jack, meaning the crowd—now more than a hundred students, more having ventured out into the cold—who were building snowmen on the sidelines and waiting expectantly. "Try this first. Just take it up like ten feet, make a big circle, and come back down. That's all. Piece of cake, right?"

"Yeah. Right." Luke took a deep breath and blew it out slowly in a white cloud, trying to think about the musical jingle of Michelle Finnegan's silver bracelets, the gentle reassuring sound that always accompanied his attempts at flying. _Kick forward and up_ , she said in his head, _but like you mean it, boy!_

He gritted his teeth and kicked…and the Nimbus glided into the air. Luke hung there, a little surprised. He hadn't been able to imagine how one flying broom could be so superior to another, but now that he was actually on the Nimbus, the difference was obvious even to someone as inexperienced as him. It almost seemed to hum beneath him, but it was a calm, almost soothing feeling; Luke got the impression that if a broom could have emotions, then this one was perfectly content to do whatever he wanted it to do, fast or slow, high or low. He eased it forward and it went, without urging or fuss. Jackson was whooping—with rather more enthusiasm than necessary, Luke thought, but it cheered him, and he guided the broom in a wide circle with Jackson turning at its center.

"You know," Luke said, "this is kinda f—"

He opened his eyes on the ground, and noticed two things: first, that it had started to snow again, and second, that the sky was still clear and it wasn't snow after all, it was feathers. Jackson was helping him sit up. "Man," he said, "you have _terrible_ luck with flying."

Luke coughed, feeling shaky from having had the air knocked out of him. The Nimbus still hovered complacently about ten feet in the air, and perched on its handle was…

" _Toodles!_ " Jackson hissed. He had tried to change the owl's name, but it refused to respond to anything but Toodle-oo; it did, however, usually accept the slightly less mortifying Toodles. "Get down here!"

The owlet had grown and lost most of its scraggly fledgling feathers, and it was surprisingly large. At Jackson's repeated calls, it ruffled its feathers and came down from the broom with a single beat of its great wings, landing on the boy's outstretched arm (and Jackson staggered slightly under the weight). There was a small roll of parchment tied to its leg.

Luke rubbed his head, which was still ringing, as Chester stood on Dave Cavanaugh's shoulders to reach the Nimbus and bring it back to the ground. Then Jackson _whoop_ ed again and crashed to his knees beside Luke, shoving the parchment under Luke's nose. Luke had time to read _very proud_ and _see you Saturday_ before Jackson snatched it away to show it to the other boys, shouting about his father coming to visit.

"Sphinx just _has_ to win!" he cried, clutching the letter to his chest.

"We will."

Luke clambered to his feet, shaking snow from his cloak, and watched warily as a group of older students approached, all holding brooms. But the boy leading them, who had just spoken, was smiling, and held out a hand. Jackson took it, his mouth hanging slightly open. "You're Driscoll Peters," he said.

The older boy's smile widened. "Yep. I saw you fly this morning, kid. Jackson Parker, right?"

Jackson nodded, mute with awe.

"It's a beautiful broom. I've been saving up for one. Mind if I give it a try?"

Jackson nodded again; Dave handed him the broom, and Jackson offered it reverently to Driscoll Peters.

"Who's that?" Luke whispered to Chester.

"Driscoll's the Sphinx Seeker. Varsity team. That's Harold Sashman, he's a Beater, and Dinah Eddington and Ira Mink, they're Chasers."

Luke could easily list the members of the Kitsune Quidditch teams, of course, but he had never seen any of the other teams. Driscoll held the broom at arm's length, testing its balance, and then examined the finely-shaped brush. "You got someone coming to see the game?"

"Yeah," said Jackson. "My dad. He was a Sphinx, a silver Sphinx."

Almost more quickly than Luke could follow, Driscoll swung onto the Nimbus and kicked into the air, becoming only a streak of color against the sky. He circled the stadium, dipped and looped, and made a spectacular move where he flew straight up, spinning like a corkscrew and gradually slowing until he stopped, pausing for a bare second high in the air before turning as he fell and coming down like a bolt of lightning. He pulled up just above the grass with a whack of wind that blew back everyone's cloaks and hair.

"Tell your dad," he said, "that Sphinx is unbeatable."

Everyone in the stadium applauded. Still calm and smiling, Driscoll dismounted and handed the Nimbus back to Jackson before taking up his own broom. "We're meeting the rest of the team to practice," he said, "but not for fifteen minutes or so. Come on, fly with me."

There were actual tears of joy in Jackson's eyes as he took to the air on his Nimbus and followed Driscoll Peters through some drills. Luke picked up the forgotten letter and took it up into the stands, where he huddled under his cloak and watched the aerobatics. _Son_ , Mr Parker had written, _we're all so very proud of you. Uncle Heath has nothing but good things to report about you and Luke. He invited me to come to the game this weekend, and I've cleared it with Principal Zander. I'll bring you both some treats from home. See you Saturday!_

Luke was touched that Jackson's father had mentioned him in the letter. He wondered suddenly how often Lionel and Mary thought about him.

* * *

Saturday was overcast but slightly warmer. It had not snowed again, and there were charmed mops in every building cleaning up the slush tracked in on students' boots.

"Want to come?" Luke asked Grimalkin as he shrugged into his cloak. The cat—who, like Jackson's owl, was losing her baby fluff and growing sleeker—regarded him impassively for a moment and then turned to look out the window again. She was perched on the sill, tail dangling, its white tip twitching back and forth. "Suit yourself," said Luke, and joined Dave Cavanaugh and several other roommates heading out the door. He knew that Grimalkin often left the dormitory, for she usually wasn't around if he ever stopped by between classes, but he had no idea where she spent her time.

He told his friends that he would see them at the game, and let his feet follow their familiar course around the perimeter of the square until he reached the Sphinx dormitory. He scraped away some crusted ice with his boot and sat on the step, his cloak a buffer between him and the cold marble. Directly ahead of him across the courtyard was his own dormitory, and beside it, framing the corner and facing the courtyard entrance, was Phoenix; as Luke watched, four of the Day quintuplets and Charon came out of the doors, gabbling happily together as they always seemed to be doing, meeting Andromeda as she came out of the Kitsune dorm. Once they were together, he once again could not tell which of the girls was Andromeda. They looked, and acted, exactly alike. _So why_ , Luke wondered for the first time, _is she a Kitsune while all the others are Phoenixes?_

This struck him as so odd, and so inexplicable, that he didn't notice the men approaching until they were nearly looming over him. Then he jumped and scrambled to his feet, slipping a little. Mr Parker laughed and took Luke's shoulders in his big hands. "You look fine, Luke," he said. "Sky Kitsune! Love it. I would have picked you for a Kitsune, definitely. How are you liking it here?"

"Oh, I love it. It's really great."

"What's your favorite course?"

"Transfiguration. Doctor Yancey says I'm doing well."

"Good for you!" Mr Parker beamed at him, and Luke felt strangely warm. Then there was a loud cry from the top of the stairs, and Mr Parker turned to catch Jackson in his arms.

Luke watched them, smiling and feeling jealousy creeping around the edge of his mind again. Then, "Here," said Lunsford, who had approached with his friend. "You won't be safe around these two without it."

He was holding out a pennant with a picture of a roaring sphinx on it, clawing out toward a Golden Snitch. Luke hesitated, and then accepted the gift as casually as he could. Today was not a day for grudges, he decided. A holiday atmosphere permeated the grounds. The first Saturday in November was always the first Quidditch game of the season, and it was taken very seriously by students and staff alike. Pennants and flags were everywhere, declaring allegiances, and in addition to their patches, many students had wide sashes worn over their shoulders, in all the colors of Emerald Hill but with the various different herald animals embroidered on them. Luke idly wished for a sky-blue sash with a kitsune. The more die-hard fans even wore elaborate hats fashioned like the heads of their heralds; student faces peered out from beneath rows of dragon teeth, or from the depths of a phoenix's throat. Most prominent were the insignias of Sphinx and Dragon, of course; early in the season, before the standings were established, people were more free and easy with their support of heralds other than their own.

Jackson—who was still wearing the scarf Lunsford had given him the other day, Luke noticed—grabbed his father with one hand and Luke with the other, dragging them across the courtyard with all the force he could muster. Lunsford followed. Luke felt a stab of guilt, glancing over his shoulder at the professor. Lunsford was smiling, but Luke thought that he also saw sadness there. He wondered why Lunsford had never married or had children. He was kind, and smart, and not bad-looking if you ignored the scar…or just got used to it. But Luke had to admit that even after all this time, he had not gotten used to the scar. There was something jarring about it every time he saw it, something that went beyond its mere appearance.

As they approached the stadium, Luke dismissed these dour thoughts. As he would soon know intimately, it was hard to think about anything else on the day of a Quidditch game at Emerald Hill. The band was playing, audible throughout campus, and the stadium had been decorated with enormous banners shaped like dragons and sphinxes that rippled through the air in the cutting breeze. The game was scheduled for ten in the morning, still nearly two hours away, but as they approached it became clear that the stadium was already filling rapidly. As with many of Emerald Hill's buildings, the Quidditch stadium was sunken into the ground, so that as they entered at ground level they were even with the tallest of the golden rings of one goal (fifty feet; the rings to either side of it were thirty and forty feet, respectively). The stadium was open to the sky, for Emerald Hill held to the tradition that Quidditch should be played in any sort of weather that happened to fall on a game day. Since the season covered winter and spring in their perch in the Rockies, sometimes that weather was desperate indeed. But the players prided themselves on their endurance in any conditions.

The stadium was divided—the southern half of the stands was reserved for Dragon fans, and the northern half for Sphinx fans. "It's decided randomly," Mr Parker said to the boys, "but it's lucky to end up on the north side."

"What if someone didn't care who wins?" asked Luke. "Where would he sit?"

"Didn't care?" Mr Parker laughed. "No such thing at this school, Luke."

They sat halfway up on the Sphinx side, Lunsford having eschewed his place in the teachers' box to sit with his brother-in-law. "Here," said the professor, "a little gift for you both." He handed a small wrapped parcel to Luke, and another to Jackson. Jackson tore his open eagerly. Luke was more careful, and Jackson was already exclaiming over his pair of binoculars by the time Luke uncovered his. Folded up, it was as small as Luke's hand, expanding on smooth hinges to variable eye-widths, and was finished in a beautiful matte bronze. "The best part," said Lunsford, "is that they're charmed. Get a certain player in your sights and hit that little toggle there, and the binoculars will follow that player until you turn off the function."

It was an exquisite gift. Luke knew that accepting it would make it very difficult to stay angry at Lunsford, but he also knew that he couldn't make himself turn it down. Jackson hugged his uncle, pouring out his thanks, then plopped down beside his father to try them out, turning the dial to adjust the focus. Luke looked up at Lunsford and said a quiet "Thank you."

Lunsford smiled. "You're welcome, Lucas." There was a question in his eyes, but Luke turned away without responding.

They bought popcorn from the vendors (hired out of Red River) and enjoyed the general spectacle as the stadium filled. Luke was greeted by Merwin Hyatt, who was wearing one of the large stylized hats Luke had seen earlier; the boy's thick glasses glinted from within the roaring mouth of a sphinx. "Good choice," he said, clapping Luke on the knee as he settled onto the bench just in front of him. "The sphinx and the kitsune are natural allies."

Ten-o'clock drew closer, and finally Principal Zander walked onto the field, resplendent in green robes for the occasion. The crowd cheered wildly until he held up a hand for silence. A quick tap of his wand at his throat, and his voice filled the stadium. "Welcome, one and all, to our inaugural Quidditch game of the '74-'75 season!"

More cheers. Luke found himself grinning.

"It is my particular honor to introduce the teams at this first game. South stands!" He whirled to face the section of Dragon fans. "Give a rousing welcome to your Varsity Dragons!"

From wide double-doors at field-level on the western side burst the seven Dragon players, already on their brooms. Their Quidditch robes were brown with red accents and exaggerated shoulder pads. The cheer from the Dragon side was huge, and Luke watched in fascination the movement of thousands of people, shifting and rolling almost like a body of water.

The Dragon team took up their places, hovering beside the western goals. Zander faced north. "Northern stands, give it all you've got for your Varsity Sphinxes!"

Luke stood and cheered with the rest of them, completely caught up in the excitement and pageantry. The Sphinx team took the field and circled the stadium, waving; their robes were the color of sand, with black hooded capes held in place by metal claw-like brooches on their shoulders. There was no hint of the players' individual style colors. Now it was just Dragon versus Sphinx.

Applauding, Zander bowed and turned over control of the field to Gregory Finnegan, whose robes were the traditional black-and-white vertical stripes of a referee. He bore a large wooden box in both arms, and behind him came a student assistant with a smaller box. Finnegan unlatched the large box and bent over it briefly, and when he straightened, the twin Bludgers exploded from their sockets, careening high into the air until they were lost to sight. Then the assistant opened the smaller box, and the bright red Quaffle was visible even at a distance. Finnegan tucked this under one arm, and then drew from a pocket a box that was only the size of a fist. He flicked it open, took the Golden Snitch between two fingers, and gave the box to his assistant, who toted all three off of the field. Finnegan held the Snitch high above his head and the crowd roared. Then his hand opened, and Luke saw only a faint golden twinkle. The Snitch was gone.

Then Finnegan mounted his broom and signaled. The captains of each team (the Sphinx Seeker, Driscoll Peters, and one of the Dragon Chasers) came to center field to consult with him. "He's just talking about let's-have-a-fair-game and all that," said Mr Parker. The captains shook hands and resumed their positions: the Keepers were in front of the goal, the Beaters circling slowly, all six Chasers poised to drop. Finnegan blew a sharp note on his whistle and threw the Quaffle straight up into the air, and the game began.

It lasted almost three hours, and was more than Luke could have hoped for. Emerald Hill took Quidditch training seriously and the students were excellent players, fearless in the air, dipping and rolling and feinting, and there was even one breathtaking moment when a Dragon Chaser actually leapt from his broom. The broom cut left but the boy jumped to the right, and the Quaffle, tossed from behind by a teammate, cleared his shoulder with perfect timing to meet up with his thrown punch, which knocked the ball through the forty-foot hoop. One of the Dragon Beaters swooped down to catch him and return him to his broom. "The Dionysus Dive!" crowed one of the announcers. Mr Parker shook his head with a grin. "Damn, that kid's good," he said. "Wish he were a Sphinx."

Luke thought that the Dragon Chasers and Keeper were better than those on the Sphinx team, but the Sphinxes had a fine pair of Beaters who worked in perfect synchrony, waving opaque signals to one another across the field. They always seemed in perfect control. And when it came to Seekers, there was no contest—Driscoll Peters had the clear advantage. Three times he pursued the Snitch, and three times was forced to turn away, whether by the interference of Bludgers or to strategically draw the Dragon Seeker away from the Snitch. When the game ended, it happened very suddenly. The Dragons were ahead 90-60, their Chasers forming up to make another run at the goal. Driscoll was skimming low over the field, his head in constant motion as he searched. And then suddenly he was streaking upward, passing straight through the formation of the Dragon Chasers like a ghost, and when he rose above the level of play it was in triumph, the Snitch clutched in his fist.

So the Sphinxes won 210-90, and the enormous rankings board on the outside of the stadium showed _Sphinx 1-0_ at the top in golden letters, with Phoenix, Kitsune, Unicorn, and Gryphon tied for second (each having a 0-0 record), and _Dragon 0-1_ at the bottom. A smaller board beneath it showed statistics of individual players: for Chasers, goals scored and time of possession; for Beaters, numbers of direct hits, glancing blows, and total misses; for Keepers, successful blocks; and for Seekers, time elapsed before capturing the Snitch.

The students crowded into White Hall for lunch, having worked up a prodigious appetite at the game. Afterward Luke and Jackson spent a lazy afternoon with Mr Parker, wandering the halls so that the man could reminisce and letting him test out Jackson's Nimbus on the field. They were on their way back to the dormitories, red-cheeked and slushy, when Mr Parker suddenly stopped. He had a very strange look on his face, some mixture of pleasure and…fear?

"Come on, Dad!" cried Jackson, pulling on his father's arm, but Mr Parker did not appear to hear him. The boys followed his gaze and saw a few professors walking toward White Hall.

Mr Parker took a step, hesitated, then called out: "Alice!"

The shortest person in the group stopped and turned, and Luke saw Doctor Yancey's face framed by a cheerful red scarf. She, too, hesitated, and then came toward them with a smile. "Lionel," she said.

"I'm surprised you recognized me."

"Don't be silly. You haven't changed a bit." There was a pause. Although they were friendly with each other, Luke could tell that they were being very careful. "I'm afraid I don't have the pleasure of teaching Jackson, but you should know that your foster son is doing very well. Top grades in his class."

Luke hadn't realized this, and grinned as Mr Parker squeezed his shoulder. "I'm very proud of both of them," said the man.

"You came out for the game, then?"

"Yes, I'll be leaving tonight. We're about to go to dinner with Heath."

"Well, I'll let you get to it, then. Thanks for saying hello. It's good to see you, Lionel."

"You, too."

Yancey walked briskly to rejoin the other professors, and Mr Parker watched her for a few seconds before herding the boys along the path toward the dormitories. Jackson walked, but he was watching his father's face with narrowed eyes. "Did you _date_ her? When you were in school?" he asked, clearly prepared to be scandalized.

"What? No. Friend of a friend, that's all. I hadn't seen her since, oh, a little before my graduation. That was back in '45…twenty-nine years! Wow. Time flies."

Luke puzzled this out for a moment. "Wait, you're...almost fifty?"

"Yep. Forty-seven." Mr Parker laughed. "Don't look it, do I? Don't act it, either, for that matter. Wizards age differently from Muggles, Luke. It's one difficulty that we have when we intermarry with them."

A voice called out, and they turned to see Lunsford coming up the path behind them. To Luke's surprise, Lunsford was dressed in corduroy pants and an overcoat, and he looked somehow diminished without the added dignity of his professor's robes or lab coat. "Aren't you ready?" he said with a smile.

"Ready for what?" asked Jackson, who looked rather like Rudolph the Reindeer, the tip of his nose being cherry-red.

"We have a special treat for you boys," said Mr Parker, hefting the Nimbus under one arm. "Better go get cleaned up for dinner. We're going to Red River."


	20. Chapter 20

"In good weather, we'd walk. It's a bit long, but very pleasant. Not an option this time of year, though."

Lunsford led the way up the stairs at the back of White Hall. Mr Parker, Jackson, and Luke had gone back to the dorms to put on dry clothes, and they were headed to Principal Zander's office to make use of his fireplace. In a time of uncertainty and potential danger from the Death Eaters, his was the only fireplace on campus connected to the Floo system, and Lunsford had gotten special permission to take Jackson and Luke to Red River.

Cynthia Redding, perched as always on the tall chair behind her desk, smiled and waved them into the office without question. Lunsford knocked, and Zander opened the door. "Heath!" he boomed. "And Lionel Parker. I remember you, you know. An excellent student. And you and Heath were always thick as thieves." He shook Mr Parker's hand.

"Good to see you, Principal," he said. "I always enjoyed your class."

"What did you teach?" asked Jackson. He was hanging onto the pocket of his father's coat with artless affection.

"Advanced Strategy and Dueling," said Mr Parker. "Emerald Hill is in good hands."

Zander clapped Mr Parker on the shoulder. "You can call me Gerald now, by the way. Come on, come on in! The fire is ready."

Luke froze in the doorway. Despite the warmth of the room, his fingers and toes went cold. The large fireplace roaring with flame, Zander and Lunsford silhouetted against the orange light... His legs felt as rigid as boards; he did not think he would be able to enter the room. Mark's face swam before his eyes

 _(that's standard wartime practice Mucus)_

and again he saw Lunsford's wand snapping up

 _(obliviate)_

and Mark's eyes going dim and unfocused.

 _My brother. He was supposed to protect me. I was supposed to protect him._

"Come on."

There were gentle hands on his elbow, his back; his feet shuffled forward.

"One foot in front of the other. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Lucas, believe me. Keep going."

He spoke very quietly, and Zander, Mr Parker, and Jackson were already at the fireplace, not paying any attention. No one had noticed his pain…no one but Lunsford. Luke allowed Lunsford to lead him, and gradually the plush carpet passed beneath him and he felt the heat of the fire on his face and chest. Jackson was scooping up some Floo powder. Zander was saying something. Luke's heart thudded heavily in his chest.

" _The Lonely Banshee_ ," said Mr Parker, as Jackson tossed in the powder. The flames burst forth in a thousand shades of green, and the two of them stepped through. With one hand on Luke's shoulder, Lunsford scattered more powder into the fire and repeated the destination. A cool green inferno surrounded them and Zander's office was gone.

Luke stumbled into a cool shadowy space, Lunsford's guiding hand still on his arm. There was a roar of greeting and he bumped up against Jackson as Lunsford began shaking hands all around; everyone seemed to know him. Luke was reminded of their arrival by Floo to Dragontooth Square.

 _The Lonely Banshee_ was one of several inns in the city of Red River. It was not the largest, nor the nicest, and yet on most weekends there was standing room only in its bar area and a line outside waiting for tables in the restaurant. Luke thought it a rather gloomy place, at least to look at. The sheetrock had peeled away in places revealing the bare brick of the exterior walls; the brass sconces were tarnished; the glow from the fireplaces seemed yellower than usual, making everyone look a little jaundiced. The décor was dominated by figureheads from ships, crusted with old dry barnacles, cracked and pitted from long years asea. The jewel of this collection was hung over the bar, an ancient-looking carving of a woman with her hands held to her face in an eternal wail. Luke found the seafaring theme an odd choice for Wyoming, but as he moved with his companions through the large common room, he could not deny that there was something appealing about the place.

It must have been the customers—they were loud but not raucous, clearly at ease with the place and each other, talking and laughing and playing games. Luke remembered, then, that Red River was one of only a few isolated pockets in the entire country where wizards and witches could openly be what they were. Whether these patrons came by every night or once a year, they would feel perfectly at home in Red River, for in Red River they had nothing to fear. It warmed Luke toward the place.

Mr Parker had reserved them a table and they were escorted there at once, one in a long row of booths with tattered vinyl seats. There was a glass bottle of ketchup on the table, which Luke always took as a good sign. Their order was taken by a very tall witch with an enormous profusion of frizzy steel-gray hair and a patch over one eye. Luke and Jackson both ordered the bacon cheeseburgers with everything.

As they ate, a small group entered through the front door and were greeted with huge cheers and applause. They were toting large cases of black leather, obscurely shaped, and only when they climbed onto a small platform and began unpacking these cases did Luke realize that they were a band. There were three wizards, one witch, and one House-Elf, who picked up an accordion almost as large as he was, staggering a bit under its weight. One wizard sat at the grubby piano, one settled himself behind an impressive array of variously-sized skin drums, and the third reverently caressed a violin of bone-white wood. The witch took the microphone.

"Evenin', ya'll," she said in a low, smoky voice. The audience shouted back various replies. She had long hair of very pale blond that contoured itself to her head and shoulders, falling like a sheet of fine silk. "I'm Bennie Hyde, and these are the Buccaneers. But I don't need to tell ya'll that, do I?"

Another chorus of response. She grinned and signaled the band, and the music began.

Mr Parker elbowed Luke. "Guy on the left? With the drums? Muggle."

Luke stared. "But I thought…"

"Yeah, well, sometimes exceptions are made."

Luke looked across the table at Lunsford, who lowered his eyes.

The burgers were greasy and good. They lingered over milkshakes, and still the band was going strong. Many witches and wizards in the bar area were on their feet and dancing. Jackson leaned back in the booth, hands behind his head, watching the music with a smile of utter contentment, and within minutes his head drooped to the side, mouth hanging open. Luke was feeling tired himself after a long, eventful day, but Mr Parker and Lunsford were completely absorbed in conversation and it didn't seem right to disturb them. So gradually Luke let his head rest on the side of the booth, and gradually his eyes closed. He dozed, floating along on the music, until something snapped him into wakefulness.

"I saw her."

"Saw whom?"

"You know. Alice."

Luke did not open his eyes, but he did open his ears. It felt wrong to deliberately eavesdrop, but he wanted to hear more, to have some explanation for the strange interaction between Mr Parker and Doctor Yancey. There was a long pause, so long that Luke was afraid they were whispering and he was missing it. But then Lunsford said,

"What did she say?"

"Nothing. Luke's acing Transfig, good to see me, all that jazz."

"Ah."

"But she did rush off when I mentioned you."

"Li, you didn't."

"Sure I did. Wanted to see for myself how she'd take it."

Another pause. "And?"

"I got nothing. She's a closed book. Pretty as ever, though." No response. "Don't you agree?"

"Leave it alone."

"Honestly, I don't know how you stand it. Seeing her every day."

"I don't."

"Not at all?"

"As little as I can manage."

"So you haven't forgiven her."

"Can we please not discuss this?"

"Sorry. I worry about you, that's all."

"Don't. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"Well, thanks for that."

"Hey, I'm being serious. You're my brother. I just wanted to say that I'm here. You know, if hell ever freezes over and you decide you want to talk about it."

Another pause, nearly as long as the first. Bennie Hyde was crooning something in a language Luke didn't recognize.

"It's hard," said Lunsford, so low that Luke almost couldn't catch the words. "Is that what you wanted to hear? It's damn hard."

"Of course it is."

"But I haven't spoken with her, and I don't plan to. And hopefully this will all blow over soon and she'll leave."

"Do you really think that?"

"What, that it will blow over soon or that she'll leave?"

"Both."

A sigh. "No."

"So she's…"

"Lionel, it's late. We should be getting the boys home—look at them. We'll talk more at Christmas, all right?"

Luke dared to crack open one eye, peeking up at Mr Parker. He was startled; he had never seen the man's normally genial face look so hard, lines of deep concern crossing his forehead. "Fine," he said. "But I'm holding you to that."

"Fair enough."

Luke woke a little past nine in the morning, feeling groggy. He had feigned sleepiness on the way back to Emerald Hill, but once in his bed found it impossible to go to sleep for several hours. He had tried to piece together the bits of information he had gathered. He wanted to talk to Jackson about it, but hated to admit that he had spied on his friend's father and uncle.

It was Sunday, and Luke decided to see what he could find out. Emerald Hill put out a thick yearbook every May, and the Agramatha Memorial Library had copies of every yearbook from the school's history. These being of very little interest to anyone but the people in them, most of those shelves were dusty and unused, but Luke found this to be to his advantage: no one bothered him as he perused, leaving clean trails where his finger swept across the spines, looking for yearbooks from Mr Parker and Lunsford's school years.

"Graduated in 1945," he muttered. "So they started back in…'38. '38 through '45…yes! Here!" He pulled several books from the shelf, coughing from the dust they sent up and wondering why no House-Elves were sent to clean the library. He made two trips from the shelves to one of dozens of tiny private reading nooks scattered throughout the library, carefully closing the glass-fronted door and spreading out the books on the little table.

First he looked at the '38-'39 yearbook, and was quickly able to find Lionel Parker and Heath Lunsford, not far apart in the section of first-year Silver Sphinxes. But though he checked the index and scoured the pages, he found no mention of an Alice Yancey. He had better luck, however, with the '39-'40 book, finding her immediately in the index. There were two pages listed beside her name, so he marked his finger there and turned to the first mention, which was in the huge section of individual photos. This was her first year, and she was grouped with the Gold Kitsunes.

There she was—and yet the picture startled Luke, and he leaned in for a closer look. It was clearly Yancey, her long-boned Asian face and black hair, but there was something different about her eyes. The photo was black-and-white and so it was difficult to tell, but it looked as though her eyes were not the dark brown that Luke knew them to be. They seemed lighter.

He checked the index again and went to page 973, the other page number listed beside her name. It was in a section of casual photos and these, unlike the posed individual shots, were in motion, which made Luke jump before he remembered it was normal. There was a full-page article with a photo of a man Luke didn't know, with his hand resting on the shoulders of young Alice Yancey, whose poise and gravity made her seem older than her eleven years. The caption read, _Emerald Hill and Principal Friedrichs are proud to welcome exchange student Alice Yancey, native of the Jiangxi Province of China_. Luke squinted, and this time he was certain that Yancey's eyes were some lighter color.

He skimmed the article, which was in a question-and-answer format and described Yancey's reactions to America and Emerald Hill, and her experiences as a young witch in China (her casual mentions of extreme persecution made Luke wince). _You're registered under the name Alice Yancey, but that's not your birth name. Why did you change it?_ Alice's answer read, _My father thought I would do well to call myself something a little more American. Yang Xiu Lan is quite a mouthful if you're not used to it. Besides, I liked getting to choose. What freedom, to choose your own name! Alice. It's pretty. Of course, Xiu Lan means 'elegant orchid,' but what good is that if I'm the only one who knows it?_

Luke thoughtfully put aside that yearbook and took out the next year, '40-'41. For curiosity he looked up Mr Parker and Lunsford again, amused at their dated hairstyles. But even more striking was seeing young Lunsford without his scar. He looked perfectly normal, and happy. Something had happened to change that, and Mr Parker's comment about forgiveness made Luke think that it somehow involved Yancey. He found her name in the index and was surprised to see seven page numbers listed beside it. There was her individual second-year photo, a group shot of the debate team (with a mention of her as their youngest member), and five photos in the casuals sections that included her. Luke noticed that her expression in every photo was virtually unchanged—pleasant, but cool. Detached. Again he noted that she seemed older than she was.

Then Luke drew in his breath, because one of the photos included Lunsford. The photo featured Yancey and two other girls, sitting among a trio of kitsune sculptures in the Joining Glade. But there were several other students in the background, and one of them was unmistakably Heath Lunsford. His face was slightly blurred, and even though the photo was charmed and therefore moving, he had moved so little during the window of capture that he seemed quite still. And he wasn't looking at the camera—he was watching Yancey. At least, Luke thought so; it was hard to tell from the angle. But then again, so were many of the young men in the background. The three girls were very pretty, and Yancey in particular.

The next yearbook, '41-'42, had twelve photos of Yancey; the '42-'43 yearbook had eighteen. Neither of them gave him any further clues. It was in the '43-'44 book that he got his biggest prize yet—not only were the photos now in color, but among the twenty-five photos including Yancey was one of just Yancey and Lunsford. _Alice and Heath_ , he reminded himself, making the mental switch. Alice's dark hair was long, falling around her shoulders in gentle wisps…and her eyes were green.

The photo wasn't large, but there was no mistaking the color there. She moved slightly, smiling for the camera and biting her lip, and at the very end of the capture she tilted her head to her left, toward Heath. At fifteen she was no longer just pretty; she was beautiful, and sixteen-year-old Heath was clearly proud to be standing beside her. Luke watched the photo for a long time. There was a confidence in Heath, almost a swagger, that he found so at odds with the man he knew that it was difficult to reconcile the two. And at the end of the loop, when Alice's head tipped toward him, Heath dropped his eyes from the camera and watched only her.

Luke remembered the night of the quintuplets' birthday party, when he had seen Lunsford watching Yancey across the room. There had been desperation in the man's face, and suddenly Luke felt great pity for him. But what had happened to estrange them? He put aside that book and pulled over the next, which would be Heath's senior year and Alice's sixth. There were forty-three photos that included Alice, and she was with Lunsford in eight of them. They both looked so happy in every instance, and he could find no evidence of anything coming between them.

That was the end—Heath would not be in the next book. Luke opened it anyway, flipping to the index at the back, but there was no Alice Yancey listed. He checked the spine again, to be certain he had grabbed the right book, and he had—'45-'46, what would have been Alice's senior year. No photographs, not a single mention of her name. He looked again at the previous yearbook, and found no mention of her graduating early.

 _She must have gone home_ , he thought, but that didn't feel quite right. Clearly she had been very popular at Emerald Hill, a member of the chorus, the drama team, and the calligraphy club; she had been noted as being the coordinator of the upperclassmen who tutored the younger students in Transfiguration, and was by far the most photographed student in the school by her sixth year. If she had gone home, they would have made a big deal of it—a two-page spread, or even more. Instead, there was nothing.

No—there was Something. Luke knew that he had found, by omission, the terrible thing that had driven Heath and Alice apart. Frowning, he looked again at that first photo of them together, the way Heath's smile became quieter, more secret, when she moved her head toward him. And then—

 _His smile._

 _(go ahead and look)_

The first time Luke had seen Lunsford,

 _(I got it when I was a teenager)_

he had been given the clue he needed now, months later.

The scar.

"Doctor Yancey?"

The rest of the class was shuffling out of the room, stuffing notes into bags and tucking textbooks under their arms. Andromeda looked back at Luke for a moment, then left with the rest. Doctor Yancey was organizing a stack of parchment rolls on her desk, essays that the students had turned in. "Yes, Luke?" she said, giving him a friendly glance.

"You went to Emerald Hill, right?"

"That's right."

"But you never graduated."

At that, she gave him her full attention. "That's true. What in the world led you to that fact?"

"Oh, I was doing some research for my Muggle Studies project. Andi and I are doing a history of wizard-Muggle relations in America. I was looking at some old yearbooks for pictures from when Emerald Hill used to let Muggle parents visit." He had worked out the lie—which, like most effective lies, was mostly the truth—ahead of time, and felt good about his delivery.

"And you noticed that I disappear after my sixth year." Yancey smiled. "There was a family emergency, and my father pulled me out of school here so I could go home. I did complete my schooling, though. Couldn't be a professor if I hadn't, right?"

Luke nodded. That made perfect sense. "Thanks," he said. "Just wondering."

"Anytime."

But he thought he could feel her eyes on the back of his head as he left the room. Did she connect his question with Luke having witnessed the conversation between her and Mr Parker a few days earlier? Her answer made sense…until he factored in Lunsford's scar and their estrangement. Had she actually injured him? He found that hard to believe.

Andromeda was in the hall waiting for him. "What was that about?" she asked.

"Nothing. Well…" he amended, feeling guilty under her searching eyes, "maybe something. I'm not sure. I'll let you know."

"How very mysterious," she said with a smile.


	21. Chapter 21

Luke planted his feet in a wide stance, shifting his balance slightly forward, poised to move, one arm out for balance. The other, his left, held his wand at the ready. Twenty paces away, Tobias Munroe (another Sky Kitsune) was similarly prepared, but he was right-handed, so their pairing seemed slightly off-balance. "Good," Abernathy had told Luke early in the semester. "Southpaws prosper in the dueling realm."

 _Focus_. Luke concentrated on Tobias's face, not his wand. "The wand," Abernathy had told them, "is a distraction. Yes, it's the source of the hex, but if you pay too much attention to the motion of the wand, you'll miss the key signals of when and how your opponent will attack. Watch his face. The eyes, in particular. Watch how he holds himself, shifts his weight. He'll tell you, without words, what he's going to do and when he'll do it. You can read him like a book. With practice, of course."

Luke tried to keep his own face blank, imagining that it was only a mask, serene and unmoved. "A good poker face is as necessary a weapon as your wand," Abernathy always said. He swayed very slightly, keeping his feet planted, moving only from the waist up, hoping to confuse Tobias. The class was silent, watching, Abernathy looming over the group like a dour gargoyle (albeit one with an improbable red wig).

 _Expelliarmus_. Luke rolled the word around his mind, keeping his lips still. The goal was to disarm his opponent, but if his aim was bad or he flubbed the delivery, he would leave himself open to a counter-attack. Would Tobias strike first, or would he wait, hoping to dodge Luke's curse and send his own as a rebound? Should Luke attack, or wait?

As always, he decided to wait. Abernathy had noted that Luke was predictable, always choosing the more cautious route, taking more time than was necessary to size up his opponent. "The time will come," the professor said, "when your enemy won't make a mistake, and you won't be able to dodge. Dueling is not a game of patience. You have to strike when the moment is right—don't wait for him."

But Luke knew Tobias, and he did not think the other boy would be able to wait for long. It all happened very quickly—Luke saw the corner of Tobias's mouth twitch, and his weight went to his back foot, and the wand swung forward. " _Expelliarmus!_ " he shouted, but the motion of the wand was not quite right, and instead of a streak of red light there was a fizzle and a bubble-like red globe that arced out from the wand, well over Luke's head. But Luke was already dodging, to the left and low, landing on one knee and snapping the wand with the motion he had practiced a thousand times.

" _Expelliarmus_." It was more of a forceful statement than a yell, but it worked. Luke had never taken his eyes off of Tobias's face, and there it was, his first perfect Disarming Hex, flying like a bullet of light. It wasn't perfectly centered, hitting Tobias on the right side of his abdomen, but the boy fell onto his rear with a loud _oof_ , his wand flying forward and clattering to the floor a few feet from Luke.

The class applauded and Luke grinned, very proud. But Abernathy pushed past Tobias (as the boy rose with a sheepish smile), and took up a dueling stance facing Luke. "Come on," he said when Luke hesitated, and Luke got into position, watching the professor warily. "Again," said Abernathy. "But remember— _I_ won't miss."

Luke tried to wait, but it was harder to concentrate with Abernathy's fierce gaze upon him. He knew that Abernathy wanted him to move first, to show initiative, but he hesitated, and never had a chance—Abernathy's hex hit him square in the chest and he flew backward, helpless to stop his wand from slipping out of his grip.

Abernathy helped him up. "Good hex," he said. "You're quick when you want to be, Baxter." He leaned in close, glaring at Luke from a distance of a few inches. "So _want it more_. Next! You—Fender and Castleman. Go."

Luke flopped onto the mat beside Andromeda. "You were great," she said.

But David shoved him from behind. "Better speed it up, slowpoke." Luke reached behind him to punch at David's knee, but the boy dodged.

The entire class was rapidly improving at the Disarming hex, but the star of their sessions was always Dancella Rondell. Abernathy praised her instincts and reflexes, and she never failed to take down whomever he put against her. She performed her hexes with calm precision, but whenever she stood over a defeated opponent, there was a strange light in her eyes that made Luke shiver.

"Quick as a cat," Abernathy said by way of compliment after Dancy had disarmed another Royal Dragon student. "You're no dragon, you're a panther."

"That'd be her Animagus form," said someone behind Luke, as Abernathy arranged another duel. Luke turned; it was Wynne Ackerman, one of the Royal Dragons. He had fine brown hair and an earnest face that was yet too small for its very large hooked nose.

Luke glanced at Abernathy to be sure the professor wasn't paying attention—Abernathy abhorred interruptions—and then whispered, "What's an Animagus?" Andromeda turned her head slightly, listening even though she kept her eyes on the duel.

"Wizard who can transfigure himself into an animal," murmured Wynne. "Skrzydlinski told us about it in class last week. I wanna do it someday."

"You?" whispered another Dragon. "You'd be a gopher, Winbles."

"Shut up!" said Wynne, a little too loudly; Abernathy swung his wild gaze over them with a long finger held out in warning.

They didn't dare talk again in class, but Luke caught up with Wynne as they left the Bastion. "Some wizards can turn into animals?"

"Well, sort of." Wynne hefted his textbooks. "It's transfiguration, that's all, just transfiguration of yourself. Not everyone can do it. Real advanced stuff."

"So if you were an animal," said Dave, "could you talk to other animals?"

Andromeda had hurried to keep up with them. "I bet so! That's amazing."

"But you have to register and everything," said Wynne, "so you can't just do it by yourself. The Admin keeps close tabs on people like that, because they could be spies or something and no one would know."

Luke felt an immediate attraction to the idea. He wasn't convinced that taking on an animal form would enable him to have conversations with real animals, but the idea of any kind of communication with them was exciting. He daydreamed about becoming a hawk, something large with wings, and flying wherever he wanted without worrying about discovery. This shifted into wishing to be a cat, so he could follow Grimalkin on whatever daily adventures she had on campus.

As it turned out, he discovered the site of his cat's expeditions that very evening. He invited Jackson to come with him to the library, but Jackson was meeting Driscoll Peters and the J.V. Sphinx Seeker, Omar Anderson, to practice on his broom. They were clearly grooming him to become a Seeker next year, and while Luke was excited for him, he had no interest in watching them drill. He was on his way to the library when Theia found him. She was walking with her three brothers, but broke away from them upon seeing him, dashing across a little lawn.

"Luke!" she said, immediately linking her arm through his. "Where are you off to?"

"Uh, just the library."

"Fun! Can I come along?"

Now, the library was _interesting_ , and _helpful_ , and maybe even _enjoyable_ in a quiet, intellectual way, but Luke couldn't imagine someone like Theia thinking the library was _fun_. But he couldn't think of any reason to refuse her, and besides, it might be nice to have some company, even if the company was a little loud and a little pushy. "Sure," he said.

Theia squeezed his arm. "Great. What are we going to do?"

"Well, um, I heard something today that I wanted to learn more about."

"Wow," she said, "that's what I love about you, Luke. You're so smart."

He blushed, but thankfully they had entered the shadowy lobby of the library and he didn't think anyone noticed. Two of the charmed glow-globes whizzed to them, pulsing faintly in what passed for excitement. Luke tapped one with his finger and spoke clearly: "Animagus." The globe's gentle light faded rapidly through red, blue, and green, and then words wrote themselves across the curved surface in what looked like black ink. _Animagus_ , it read. _Advanced Transfiguration, Level 2, Sections 5, 6, and 7. Titles of interest:_ _The Animal in You_ _(B. Bottlesworth 1937),_ _Path to the True Self Vol. 4_ _(G. Veermyer 1898),_ _Experimentation in Advanced Self-Transfiguration Vol.1-7_ _(H. Underwood, et al 1922-1927),_ _Great Animagi throughout History_ _(T. Zane 1965),_ _Animal Cryptology: the Dangers of Anthropomorphization_ _(E. Catrell 1855), "Animagus vs. Patronus: a Theory of Harmonization" (published in_ _Scientific American Magician_ _, Spring 1949), "Give Me Wings: A Study of the Potential Advantages and Opportunities of the Animagi and Suggestions for Further Research" (published in_ _Scientific American Magician_ _, Autumn 1955)._

They took the elevator to the second floor. Theia was enthusiastic and helpful, gathering the books listed on Luke's globe and sitting across from him at one of many massive oak tables. She even began flipping through a few of the volumes herself, reading aloud snippets she thought he would find interesting. They gasped over diagrams (and, in a few memorable cases, photographs) of self-transfiguration gone wrong, and skimmed over sentences, paragraphs, and chapters upon chapters of technical jargon they couldn't begin to understand.

Luke learned that it was not possible for a witch or wizard to consciously choose their Animagus form, that it was an expression of their personality and the outcome was very difficult to influence. "What do you think I'd be?" asked Theia, but for once she wasn't acting coquettish; the light from the globes reflected in her eyes as she looked at him seriously.

"A swan," said Luke. It was the first thing that occurred to him.

A beautiful smile spread over her face. "Really?"

"Or a crocodile. What do I know?"

She laughed and slapped him lightly on the arm. "Well, _you'd_ be something quiet and noble. A stag, maybe."

No one had ever suggested that Luke was noble, and though it embarrassed him, it also made him smile. He bent studiously over the book.

"Why did the globe list this one?" asked Theia, brushing dust from the cover of the _Animal Cryptology_ text. "It's not about Animagi, it's just about animals."

"Well, check the index. Maybe it mentions something about Animagi."

They were both quiet for a few minutes, turning pages. Luke realized that he was actually having quite a pleasant time with Theia, who had always confused and overwhelmed him in the past.

"Wow," said Theia then, and Luke looked up. "Animagi are wizards that can turn into animals, but did you know that some animals can turn into humans?"

"What?"

"Yeah! That's what this one is all about."

"What animals?"

"Well, magical ones, of course. The author includes werewolves, which I think is mean. Werewolves are human."

"Right." Luke had never thought about it before.

"Anyway..." She ran a finger down the chapter headings at the front of the book. "There are chapters about unicorns, and sphinxes, and kitsunes. And werewolves and vampires, hmph."

"Kitsunes? Really?" Luke pushed aside the book he'd been reading and leaned over the table on his elbows.

"Mm-hm." Theia turned to the indicated chapter with quick flicks of her fingers. " _Kitsunes_ ," she read aloud in a rather prim voice, " _are historically not only the most talented magical creatures at retaining human form, but traditionally have been the most willing to do so and the most interested in becoming acquainted with our culture._ I had no idea. That's so neat!"

"Are they still around? Does it say?"

"Hold on, I'm looking." Theia turned pages rapidly, her lips pursed in concentration. "Wait, here's something. _The most well-known of these instances is that of the creature Singüe—a name which means, in their language, the one who smiles._ Aww, what a nice name. Anyway, _she was a frequent visitor of the Isak Petrov family in Yekaterinburg, Russia, appearing to them in human form a total of seventeen times over the course of three years, 1834-1837. On what was to be her final visit, she was persuaded to travel to Moscow and submitted herself very willingly to the questioning of the Wizard Premier, and while she never answered questions about her own culture or history, she was very polite and friendly. At the end of three days, however, she claimed that she had been called home, and without further explanation she dropped the mantle of her human form and appeared before them as a true Kitsune, lingering less than a minute before departing into the Aether._ _No sightings of her have been reported since that time._ Look, there's a picture of her."

She turned the book so that Luke had a better view. There was a stout, bearded man whom Luke took to be the Wizard Premier of Russia, solemnly shaking the hand of a willowy woman with long hair, whose smile was cool and faintly amused.

Luke checked the front of the book to confirm what he thought he remembered—the book was very old, published before the turn of the century. He looked at the photo again, frowning. Something about it nagged at him.

"Something wrong?" asked Theia. "Goose walk over your grave?"

She touched his arm, where goosebumps had risen. He rubbed his arms briskly and pulled down the rolled-up sleeves of his sweater. "Nothing," he said. "Hey, it's time for dinner. We'd better get going."

They were walking toward the elevator when a dark shape stirred on the top of one of the tall bookshelves; Luke saw it in the very corner of his eye, and he barely had time to turn his head before the shape was hurtling toward him. He had a vivid flashback of Toodle-oo divebombing him on the Quidditch field and threw up his arms to shield his face, but nothing hit him. There was a gentle _thump_ near his feet and something pressed against his legs. He looked down.

"Grimalkin!"

"Oh, is this your kitty?" Theia knelt and Grimalkin arched her back against the girl's knees, purring audibly as Theia petted her. "She's lovely."

"Yeah, and a pain in the butt." But Luke was smiling as he scooped the cat into his arms. "So this is where you go, huh, girl? You like the library? So do I."

"Adorable," said Theia, leaving it unclear as to whether she meant the boy or the cat.

* * *

Doctor Yancey lifted the pencil from Luke's desk, examining it from every angle as she held it between the very tips of her finger and thumb. The tip was sharpened, and she flipped the pencil deftly into a writing grip to scratch a few lines on a scrap of parchment sticking out of his textbook. She passed a thumb over the lines, which smeared. She turned the pencil and rubbed the eraser over the marks, looking closely at the dust left behind. She even bit the pencil to see the indentations left by her teeth, and flicked a nail against the little metal cap that held the eraser. She tapped the pencil a few times on the desk—the letters, stamped in green foil and spelling out _Dixon Ticonderoga no. 2_ , flashed in the light—then placed it in front of Luke once more.

"Change it back," she said.

Luke stared at the pencil, sitting very still but mentally scrambling. It had taken him months to perfect this transformation from pen to pencil, but not once had he considered the problem of changing the pencil back to a pen. He took a breath and let it out slowly, not allowing himself to feel rushed despite the pressure of having the professor watching. He considered the pencil and everything he had learned about it, and the steps required to make it a ballpoint pen—wood to plastic, lead to ink, the little spring inside. He could picture clearly what he wanted to do. Transfiguration was easier in one way than something like Charms: at a basic level, it required no incantations, no memorization. It was very much a mental process.

Luke raised his wand, passing it over the pencil a few times as he concentrated, and then he gave it three taps—at the eraser, at the center of the shaft, and at the tip. And before his eyes, the pencil _shifted_. He had often wondered what an object would feel like in the middle of a transfiguration, but he had never actually tried to touch it; one, it happened very quickly, and two, he couldn't risk breaking his concentration.

Where there had been a pencil, there was now a pen once more. Yancey scrutinized it in much the way she had done with the pencil, but to Luke's surprise, when she drew a few little loops on the scrap of parchment, the ink—which had been blue in the original pen—was green.

"Nice touch," she said.

Luke didn't dare tell her that the change had been unintentional, because although he hadn't meant to do it, he knew why it had happened. He couldn't look at Doctor Yancey, now, without remembering her green eyes.

"Doctor Yancey?" This from Andromeda, sitting beside Luke as always. "Can you tell us about Animagi?"

Luke looked at her, astonished and pleased, and then immediately focused on Yancey. The professor smiled. "What would you like to know?"

"Everything," said David, who had heard.

"Well," said Yancey, moving back toward her own desk, "since you've clearly heard of such a thing, why don't you tell me what _you_ know?"

Several students answered. "It's when a wizard transfigures himself into an animal." "The Admin has a list of all the Animagi in America." "It's really hard to do."

Luke said, "You can't choose what animal you become."

Yancey tipped a finger at him. "That's a very important point. You've all mastered the art of turning a pen into a pencil. That's pretty simple. Transfiguration that involves living creatures is very difficult. But with sufficient practice, you could eventually transfigure anything into anything, pretty much. There are a few restrictions, and some transfigurations are even illegal, but the greatest restriction is your own talent and ambition. So you might think that, given enough time, you could apply these lessons to your own body and make yourself into whatever you wanted. But you would be wrong.

"There has only been one witch, in the entire history of magic, who has ever had more than one Animagus form. She had three, because hey, if you're going to break a record, you might as well make it so that no one will ever be able to top you. Selena Montpelier, born 1238. Bring her up in your History class and you'll really impress your teacher. Her first, and most natural, Animagus form was that of a greenfinch, which she achieved at the age of fifteen. Don't get any ideas—hers was a once-a-millennium kind of talent. She dedicated her life to the study of Animagus transformation, and at the age of seventy-one, she was also able to take the form of a raven. But the jump from a greenfinch to a raven isn't _that_ big, is it? So she decided to go even further. In her extreme old age, she finally made the transformation into a housecat. A cat with feathers, mind you, but still an actual cat.

"As I said, she is unique among wizardry. It takes a huge amount of natural talent for Transfiguration to become an Animagus, not to mention a huge amount of dedication. One in a thousand witches or wizards possess that combination of ingredients, and maybe one in a thousand of _them_ actually achieves full transformation. The Administration requires that Animagus training be completely supervised and documented, because it can go terribly wrong."

"But _why_ can't you choose what you turn into?" asked a girl—a Sky Kitsune, one of Andromeda's roommates, whose name Luke didn't know.

"Because even if you take on a different shape, you're still _you_. Your Animagus form would be a physical expression of something deep within you, something essential to your very spirit. It's like your personality made visible. Get it?"

The bell rang in the hall, and the students began packing their things. Yancey sat at her desk. "Luke," she called, and he approached her, stuffing his textbook into his shoulder bag. "I didn't want to embarrass you in front of the class, but that was very impressive, turning the pencil back into the pen. I don't know a single other freshman who could do that without any preparation."

Luke was flooded with pleasure; what's more, Andromeda was waiting for him by their desk and he couldn't help feeling happy that she had heard. "Thank you, ma'am," he said. "How did you know I could do it?"

"I didn't. I guessed." She folded her arms, smiling at him. "But it was a good guess, hm?"

Andromeda nudged him once they were out in the hall. "She's right. That was really good."

"Thanks," said Luke, trying not to smile.

"Any progress on your mystery mission?"

"Well, maybe, actually."

"Still top-secret?"

"Hey, I'm not keeping secrets." Somehow it seemed very important to him that she understood that. "I just…I don't know if I'm right yet. I don't even know what I'm right or wrong _about_ yet."

"It's okay. I get it." She gave him a reassuring smile. "But when you find out, let me know, huh?"

"I will," he said, and he meant it. He went straight to the library, telling Andromeda he would meet her at dinner. He took the elevator to the second floor and grabbed a book, then went down two floors to the lowest level where the yearbooks were housed. He slid the one book from its place—the group was easy to find because they were the one small dust-free pocket in the yearbook section—and took his two books to the same reading nook he had used a few weeks ago. He quickly flipped to the photo of Alice and her two friends among the kitsune statues and watched it for a moment, chewing on his lip. Then he opened the _Animal Cryptology_ book, taking a little longer to relocate the photo of the kitsune Singüe. That photo wasn't moving, but both were in black and white, and Luke spent long minutes looking back and forth between them.

Alice was a pretty young Asian girl; Singüe was older, tall and Caucasian, and her hair was some medium tone. They were very different people…and yet they looked so similar. It was this strange feeling that had struck Luke when he had first seen the photo of Singüe: that it was familiar. That _she_ was familiar. He looked between the two photos until he felt dizzy, but he still couldn't decide what exactly made him feel that there was any resemblance between the two women. In fact, the more he looked at them, the less alike they seemed, until he closed the books in frustration. Instead of leaving them out for a library aide to reshelf, he went to the trouble of putting them in their places himself.

 _Just in case_ , he told himself.

 _In case of what?_

He had no answer.


	22. Chapter 22

When the students woke up on the first of December, the campus was transformed. Not only had three inches of fresh snow fallen during the night, but every walkway, every statue, every windowsill, and every tree had been decked out for Christmas.

Garlands and wreaths made of pine boughs were everywhere, most of them decorated with pine cones or berries or tinsel or all three. The walkways were lined with enormous candy canes. The church had set up a beautifully detailed Nativity scene. In the Joining Glade, every animal boasted an appropriately-sized Santa hat. And the lights—Luke had never imagined such a huge profusion of Christmas lights. Some strands were white, some red and green, some multicolored, and they adorned every tree and shrub, the columns of the dormitories and of White Hall, all iron railings to be found on campus, and many windowsills and doorways. They were lovely in the daylight, and Luke could hardly wait to see the effect after nightfall.

In addition to the lights, several of the largest trees on campus were more fully decorated, each in a different theme. The three enormous hemlocks outside White Hall had lights and ornaments all of frosted white. The little grove of Frasier firs near the amphitheater were all red and white, hung with candy canes and tinsel. And the two great oaks at the entrance to the dormitory courtyard were a gorgeous gaudy rainbow, with metal ornaments in the shapes of Santa Claus, gingerbread men, elves, gifts, and toys.

Midterm exams were approaching—they were scheduled for December 16-18, after which the students would be free to travel home for the holidays. Luke felt confident about Transfiguration, Strategy, Botany, Life Studies, and Charms, but spent a lot of time with either a few of his roommates or Jackson, Chester, and the quintuplets studying History and Chemistry. But during his few moments of free time between class, studying, meals, and sleep, Luke's thoughts remained troubled by the puzzle of Lunsford's scar and what, if anything, Doctor Yancey might have to do with it. He felt that he was at a dead end, and he might actually have left things at that, if it hadn't been for Jackson.

They were in one of the Chemistry labs, practicing a concoction of pixie repellent. Jackson was crushing beetle carapaces with a mortar and pestle, and Luke was watching the distillation chamber drip into a beaker; he was supposed to close the valve just after the clear mixture turned blue, the paler the better. There was a gentle tapping on the door, and Doctor Lunsford leaned in. "Still at it, boys?" he asked. "Better make this one count, because I have to close up the lab in about ten minutes."

"Sure, Uncle Heath," said Jackson.

When the man had gone, Luke, seized by a sudden impulse, asked, "Do you know how he got that scar?"

"Eh, something that happened while he was at school."

"But couldn't one of the teachers have healed it?"

"There's something magical about it. Actually…" Jackson put down the pestle and leaned in with a conspiratorial air. "Don't tell him I said this, but I think it was actually some kind of punishment."

"Punishment? What for?"

"Beats me. Just the way he never talks about it, makes me think that it was something he did wrong. Almost like he _has_ to have it. You know? And maybe that's why no one healed it right."

"Have you ever asked him about it?"

"Nah. Someday I will. I just don't have the guts yet, you know?"

"Yeah." They were quiet again for a moment. "He never got married?"

"Nope. Mom used to tease him about it, but she stopped. I think it kind of hurt his feelings. But you know, I did ask my dad about the scar one time."

"Yeah? What did he say?"

"He said it was a sad story and he'd tell me when I was older. And I said, why was it sad, did other people get hurt? I thought it might have been like a big accident or something. And Dad said no, just Uncle Heath, that he had messed with the wrong person."

Luke blinked. Every inch of his skin seemed to be tingling. _No_ , he thought, but then _Yes. It fits_. But how could he find out?

"Luke? Luke! The blue stuff!"

"Oh—whoops!"

He snapped the valve closed, but it was too late; the distillate had gone a deep cobalt blue, and was useless for their formula. "Sorry," said Luke.

"That's okay, I'm bored anyway. Wanna go play some Exploding Snap?"

"Nah, I'm pretty tired. Guess I'll go read some History till I fall asleep."

Jackson laughed. "Yep, that'll do it."

But Luke did not read his History textbook, and he did not go to sleep. He sat on a bean bag chair in one of the balconies in the Den, watching the huge painting of the kitsunes. His hands restlessly twisted the tail of his shirt, and the toe of his shoe drummed a nervous rhythm against one of the twisted iron posts of the balcony railing. _Is it true?_ he thought, watching the kitsunes. They did not answer.

When something touched his arm he jerked away, almost crying out, but it was only Grimalkin. She climbed onto the bean bag and kneaded it for a moment before curling up beside him. Stroking her soft fur, Luke felt a little more calm, and tried to organize his thoughts. He forced himself to think the words: _Alice Yancey is a kitsune_. It sounded absurd, and yet he could not bring himself to reject it. It was an answer that fit all the clues he had collected—the strangeness of her changed eye color, why she had left Emerald Hill before completing her schooling, Lunsford's unrequited love. It even explained the strange resemblance he had felt between Alice and the kitsune Singüe. But there was still the scar. _Something magical about it_ , Jackson had said, and that fit Luke's theory…but no matter how much he circled around that thought in his mind, he could not imagine Yancey—Alice, Xiu Lan, whatever her true name might be—hurting anyone like that, much less someone of whom she had clearly been so fond. And yet it made a terrible kind of sense. It explained the awkwardness between Yancey and Mr Parker, who was Lunsford's best friend. It explained Yancey's sudden departure after the mention of Lunsford's name, and Mr Parker's remark about Lunsford having not forgiven her.

He pulled Grimalkin into his lap and she molded herself against his hands, curling her tail around his cheek. If Yancey wasn't human, then he could not really think about her in human terms. She had clearly gotten good at her act, but thirty years ago she had been much younger. A fit of rage or jealousy could have made her lash out.

"I have to ask someone," he said aloud, cupping Grimalkin's pretty little face in his hands. But whom? Lunsford? No, it was too painful a subject for Lunsford. Yancey herself, then? No—Luke's ears burned with embarrassment at the possibility of being wrong. And if true, it was obviously a secret, and he could not think of any way to get her to admit it. She could deny it and then have Luke expelled on some pretense, to maintain her secrecy. Too risky. Jackson wouldn't know, Mr Parker was too far away and he didn't trust sending messages like this by owl.

Grimalkin shook herself and pulled away from him, leaping to the rail of the balcony and performing a long liquid stretch before looking at Luke in a strangely pointed manner. Then she turned to regard the painting of the kitsunes, her tail slowly sweeping back and forth. Luke watched it for a few moments, and then gasped so loudly that several other Kitsune students nearby glanced his way.

He stood, looking at Grimalkin. "You think I should ask…him?"

Grimalkin yawned.

He took the tunnels. With every step his heart was in his throat; he was certain at every turning that some sort of alarm would go off, lights would come on, he'd be caught, and he could think of no plausible explanation to give. Sleepwalking, maybe.

 _This is stupid. This is ridiculous_ , he berated himself, and yet his feet kept going. Grimalkin walked with him, sometimes running far ahead and stopping to watch his progress, only the white tip of her tail and the glow of her eyes visible in the light from his wand. He took the tunnel that led across campus to the amphitheater, and though he had told himself repeatedly that the outer door would be locked, it opened easily, swinging silently outward. He peered out of the shadow into the silent night.

It was past midnight—which meant _way_ past curfew. But Luke knew that he would never be able to get there undetected during the day, and he had wanted to get it over with as soon as possible, before he lost his nerve or convinced himself against it. The moon was out, sailing through high scattered clouds, just a touch short of half-full, but it was no match for the Christmas lights, which burned night and day. The effect was dazzling, and even more so when he was the only one outside. Luke climbed out of the amphitheater, walking carefully on patches of ice or on hard-packed snow to avoid leaving footprints. The paths were still clear, thanks to vigilant de-icing, and he walked quickly through the cold, his breath trailing out behind him. He reached the giant Pegasus statue without incident and hesitated, looking up the side of the bowl at the zig-zagging steps. He would be completely exposed during that ascent. The dormitories were blocked by trees, but anyone in White Hall or several of the other buildings would have a clear view of him if they happened to look out the window. No, he told himself, it was too far away, a single person in a dark cloak would not be visible, not even with the glow from a million Christmas lights.

Grimalkin was already on the fifth stair, purring loudly. "Shh," he told her gently, and began climbing.

The higher he got, the colder it grew, with a biting wind that pulled at his cloak and scarf. Tiny particles of ice were blown along with the wind and pattered against him. The stairs had not been de-iced and many of them were treacherous, so much that he had to use his hands for a good portion of the climb, glad for his thick gloves. At the crest of the hill the wind was howling, and Luke turned, clutching his cloak around him, remembering the first time he had seen Emerald Hill, more than four months previously.

Despite his fear of detection, he stood rooted to the ground, a silly smile on his face. Christmas lights are glorious up close, but the effect of the entire campus from above was breathtaking—Emerald Hill was a glowing orb of warmth and cheer, incongruous among the dark silent mountains all around. Luke bathed in that light as long as he dared, and then turned toward the darkness.

The steep stairs leading down to the path were even worse than the others, and Luke nearly had to slide down on his rear. Grimalkin leaped down with ease, running ahead and then skipping back to check on him, her feline feet nimble even on the ice. When he finally reached the path Luke's legs were shaking and he had to rest for a moment before going on. The switchbacks were icy, but very little snow had stuck on them due to the wind. Luke walked mostly beside the path, where the brittle, frosted grass offered more purchase for the treads of his boots. Now that he was out of sight of the school he felt a little safer, but he knew this was an illusion—it was strictly forbidden for students to leave the Emerald Hill grounds, and there would definitely be some sort of security system in place to keep them from doing so. His only hope was that Emerald Hill's extensive property was included within Zander's definition of the "grounds." He certainly didn't plan to leave the property. As he progressed and there were no alarms, no sudden lights, no angry adults, his confidence slowly grew.

The Heart Ring was motionless in the moonlight, which lay silver-bright on every surface and cast very black shadows, distinctly marking every blade of grass and particle of stone. Facing the statues alone in the freezing darkness was a world apart from the friendly anticipation of a sunny summer morning, and his feet faltered at the edge of the stone circle. He stood between the unicorn and the gryphon, heart thudding slowly and painfully, the sound of it somehow magnified by the icy marble…or was that only his imagination?

He jumped and staggered when Grimalkin brushed against his leg, falling against the base of the gryphon statue and then shoving away, frightened. "What?" he demanded of the cat, who sat looking at him expectantly. _Did you come all this way for nothing?_ she seemed to ask.

It was true—he would have to do this now, for he would never work up the courage to come again. One terrifying solitary nighttime curfew-break was enough for him. So he faced the center of the circle, wrapped himself more firmly in his cloak, and walked.

It seemed like a very long walk, his feet crunching on the gritty ice. He reached the center and turned to face the kitsune, and had also to face, for the first time, the possibility that this wouldn't even work. Would the kitsune spirit speak to him again, after his choosing had passed? "Sorry to intrude," he said, feeling a little silly as he nearly had to shout into the wind. "I just, I have to ask you something. It's about Alice Yancey. Yang…Yang Xiu Lan?" (Having only read the name and not heard it, he said _xiu_ as _zee-oo_.)

He stumbled, falling to his knees; he had been braced against the wind, and the wind had died as though the window of the heavens, which had been letting in a terrible draft, had been closed. The night was perfectly still…and yet, beyond the circle of the statues, Luke could see trees and grass still nodding and waving, buffeted by a wind he could no longer hear or feel. And in the back of his mind he heard something stirring. Whispers, mutters, claws scraping on stone. A shiver ran up his back as the eyes of the statues began to glitter in his peripheral vision.

 _(Rule-breaker.)_

The kitsune raised its head, bringing its front paws primly together.

"Uh, well, yeah. Yes. Sorry."

 _(What purpose brings you through here through cold and danger? Why have you come, Lucas Alan Baxter?)_

"It's about Alice Yancey. You know her, right? She was chosen as a Kitsune."

 _(I know every student I have claimed. Their faces are ever in my mind.)_

"Oh. Good. Well, I…I wanted to know if…if she's…"

 _(Have you not the courage to speak your question?)_

Luke lifted his chin, carefully willing his hands to relax from their fists. "Is Alice Yancey a kitsune? Like you, I mean."

 _(No.)_

Something tense in Luke's stomach unclenched; he felt both relieved and strangely disappointed. "Oh. Well, um…as long as I'm here, do you know anything about Heath Lunsford? He was a Sphinx, I know, but—"

The kitsune rose up, the thick fur of its neck rising in hackles, a huge menacing presence. From the depths of its throat issued an inhuman _hisssssss_. Luke fell backward, scrabbling briefly on the ice, terrified. Then the kitsune relaxed, as suddenly as it had threatened, laying back its ears and lowering its long nose. _(The mark,)_ it whispered.

"Y-yes." Luke climbed to his feet slowly, rubbing the elbow he had banged on the marble. "His scar."

The kitsune leaned forward, studying Luke with deep, shadowed eyes. _(A kitsune is a creature of fire and shadow. You know this.)_

"Uh, sure."

 _(Fire—passion, strength, warmth, zeal. Shadow—mystery, distance, contemplation. A kitsune is a vault of secrets. It is one of the defining characteristics of the children I call my own. When asked to guard a secret, a kitsune will carry that secret down into the grave, if not released by the one who placed the bonds.)_

Luke frowned, trying to divine some sort of expression on the kitsune's stone face. Behind the actual words of the kitsune in his mind, he thought he heard a faint rustling monologue, an endless hissing flow of _(secrets secrecy mystery binding distance shrouds secrets)_.

 _(And yet,)_ went on the kitsune, _(the greatest secret a creature can hold, the secret of its own true name, is one that humans bandy about like a meaningless trinket. To know the name of a thing, or a person, is to have power over it. A kitsune does not lightly give away its true name. To do so would reveal it, lay its heart bare to the asker. But a kitsune is bound ever by oaths of fire and stone. A demand made in the name of these is sacred. To refuse…is unheard-of.)_

Luke tried to make sense of this. "I don't want to hurt her," he said. "I just…wanted to know."

 _(Do not explain yourself, child. I can see your heart. Think well on what I have said. I would not have told you these things if I did not believe that she needs you. She…and he.)_

"You mean Doctor Lunsford?"

 _(His name is an arrow of shame that pierces us.)_ The kitsune suddenly raised its head high, ears erect, looking up the mountain. _(Go now, Lucas Alan Baxter. There is wakefulness above. But if you are quick and quiet, you will not be discovered.)_

In an instant the whispers were gone, the statue had frozen in its customary position, and the wind was released into the circle, nearly knocking Luke over again. The interview was over; there was no point in lingering. He left the circle at once and climbed the switchback path again, repeating over and over again one of his mother's favorite sayings: _more speed, less haste_. It was a sweet relief to crest the lip of the bowl and enter the bubble of Christmas cheer that was Emerald Hill. He descended the stairs carefully and nearly ran to the amphitheater, suddenly afraid that the door to the tunnels would be closed and locked, but again it opened under his hand and he slipped inside, lighting his wand with a whisper of " _Lumos_." Grimalkin's eyes shone like green coins.

He arrived back at the dormitory without incident, kicking his boots into a cubby and hanging his cloak on a peg above them, after shaking the snow and ice from its folds. The Kitsune dormitory had never seemed so cozy and safe to him. He passed through the door with the blue enamel panels, climbed his last set of stairs for the night, and stopped by the bathroom before collapsing into bed. He thought it would take him a while to go to sleep, but within minutes he was gone, still fully dressed.

Luke dragged himself through classes the following day—a Tuesday, so he did not see Yancey. But he did see Lunsford, bright and early at his eight-o'clock Chemistry class. The only thing that enabled him to stay awake was something the kitsune had said: _his name is an arrow of shame that pierces us_. What had he meant by _us_? The kitsune and Luke? No, that made no sense. He had to have meant himself and other kitsunes. Which would only make sense if kitsunes were connected with Lunsford's scar, which would mean that Yancey _was_ a kitsune, and yet the spirit in the statue had flatly denied that.

That evening, he struggled through a History of Magic study group. The page of his textbook blurred and he rubbed his eyes.

Andromeda nudged his arm. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, sorry. Just tired. I didn't sleep well."

"Working on something?"

"Not really."

"Hm," she said, tucking her quill behind one ear and returning to her notes. "Just wait—I'll figure out what's going on with you, Luke. I know you're not lying…I just have to ask the right questions."

He smiled and tried to focus.

That night he climbed into bed in his pajamas and took out a roll of parchment. He wanted to write out his conversation with the kitsune spirit, if only to get it out of his head. He thought hard and wrote every word he could recall, making neat notes in the margins about how the statue had looked or what emotions it might have been conveying. Then he sat and looked at it, his bedside lamp one of several pools of light in the quiet room as his roommates sat studying or—in the case of Jared Brighton and Noah Perkins—playing checkers. The gentle clicking of the pieces on the board was a peaceful background to Luke's thoughts. He felt better having a tangible copy of the conversation, and hoped that if he carried it around in his pocket, he might be able to dismiss thoughts of it with a promise to himself to read it over again later.

 _Is Alice Yancey a kitsune? Like you I mean._

 _No_.

He paused there, and his brows drew together thoughtfully. He remembered Andromeda's remark about asking the right questions. Luke had changed his question with the amendment _like you_. What, exactly, was he asking? To what, exactly, was the kitsune saying no? He took up his pencil again (which he had tucked behind an ear), and wrote in his careful letters:

 _Is Alice Yancey a kitsune like you?_

 _No_.

He read these two lines several times, tapping the eraser of the pencil against his jaw. _I know you're not lying_ , Andromeda had said, _I just need to ask the right questions_. A kitsune would not lie, but it _would_ keep a secret. Why else would it have given that speech about secret-keeping? Luke had simply asked the wrong question.

The checkers clicked, and Luke felt the final pieces of his puzzle clicking into place. The final remaining question was: what should he do about it? His first impulse was to do nothing, to keep Yancey's secret and learn the story of the scar in due time. But even his patient nature balked at that. _She needs me_ , he thought slowly, _the kitsune said so._

 _Okay, then_ , he answered himself, _there's only one thing to do. Talk to her about it._

He took a deep breath to steady himself from a rush of anxiety. _When?_ He considered, and realized that it would have to be the next day, December 11, a Wednesday. It was his last actual class with her, the last time he was guaranteed to see her before the midterm exams, and the thought of working through his exams with this weight on his mind was unbearable.

 _Fine_ , he told himself. _Tomorrow._ The thought made him faintly nauseated.


	23. Chapter 23

Transfiguration was the final class of the day, ending at 4 PM. It was their final review for the exam, which would take place the following Monday, and Luke went through the motions of paying attention with clammy hands and lead feet. He had been tremendously relieved to find an open slot on Yancey's appointment list, which hung outside her office door; she had certain hours available to meet with students who wanted extra help. Luke's appointment was for 6-o'clock that evening. He left the classroom with the others and joined a snowball fight—it was hard to refuse after Dave had stuffed a handful of snow down the back of his shirt—and then had an early dinner in White Hall, mealtimes being more flexible during exam season.

At 5:45 he slipped away from his friends and made his way back to Yancey's office. Her previous appointment had apparently ended early: the classroom was empty and the door to the office standing open, the only sound the quiet humming of a happy little tune.

Luke almost ran away. His feet actually twitched toward the door. But he remembered the enormous kitsune statue looking down at him

 _(have you not the courage to speak your question)_

and it gave him strength. _She needs me_. He could not imagine how or why, but he was willing to believe it was true. Hardly able to feel his feet touching the ground, Luke crossed the classroom to the cheerful yellow light spilling from the office door, and rapped his knuckles on the jamb.

"Luke," Yancey said, looking up with a warm smile. "A little early, I see. That's just fine. Come on in."

The classroom was tiled but the floor of the office was hardwood, polished and gleaming. There were filing cabinets along one wall, and a large curio box with dozens of little slots, each one holding a tiny glass animal. The shelves on the wall behind the desk were filled, but not cluttered—books and wooden carvings and seashells each had their own place, and the shelf paper was meticulously placed and regularly cleaned. In the corner leaned a harp half as tall as Luke, made of some dark wood he did not recognize. And there, in the middle of all of this, was a smiling woman behind a neat desk.

"Have a seat," said Yancey, and Luke was glad to allow his knees to collapse. "I was surprised to see your name on the appointment list, Luke. You certainly don't need extra instruction. Ready to turn a teaspoon into a teacup?"

He nodded; he was not worried about the Transfiguration midterm. He opened his mouth, but could not make the words come out.

"Luke?" She tilted her head, her smile fading slowly into a look of concern. "Is there something wrong?"

"Well," he said, "no. Not really. I guess." His voice did not sound like his own. It seemed to come from somewhere far away. "I just, well, I had something to, uh, ask you."

"Of course. You can ask me anything."

Slowly, slowly, he forced his eyes to rise. Knees, desk, line of pencils, desktop calendar covered with scribbled notes and doodles, folded hands with neat round nails, robe, collar, chin, mouth, nose…eyes. Her eyes were dark brown, but he remembered them being green. Somehow, this gave him the courage to speak.

"I wanted…to know your name."

He said it deliberately, so that she could not mistake the words, but the look she gave him was benign, curious and somewhat puzzled. "Alice. Haven't you heard that? Doctor Alice Jane Yancey, if you please." But again her pleasant smile faded as she watched his face. "What?"

"I want to know your _name_."

"I'm not sure…oh, my birth name? Yang Xiu Lan. I was born in China. I changed it on my father's advice, when I came to America to attend Emerald Hill."

She was perfectly cool, betraying nothing, and a worm of doubt twisted in Luke's gut. _Suppose I'm wrong_ , it whispered. But the voice of the kitsune replied, _she needs you._ He looked steadily into her eyes, and something in her face hardened. She unfolded her hands and laid long white arms on the desk.

"What do you think you want to know, Luke?" she asked evenly.

He took a deep breath and bit down on it hard before releasing it in a rush with the words he had practiced: "Your name, your _true_ name, by fire and stone."

Her eyebrows lifted slightly, but otherwise she was a statue, and as he watched, her lips slowly tightened until they were a thin red line. There was a long silence, stretching into minutes, but though Luke felt somewhat lightheaded he did not move, clutching the arms of his chair as a reminder of the solidity of his surroundings.

Then Yancey stood, rising slowly and smoothly, never taking her eyes from him. He was reminded of the kitsune statue arching its back in mute threat, and fear stabbed him between the eyes with a blinding flash of white. It occurred to him only now, when it was much too late, that if she could hurt Lunsford, give him such a terrible scar, _mark_ him like that, then what might she do to Luke to protect her secret…? He threw himself back in the chair, drawing his knees to his chest and shielding himself with his arms. Later, he would be ashamed that he had not once thought of his wand, ensconced safely in the sleeve-pocket built into all Emerald Hill robes for just that purpose.

Her heels _click, click, click_ ed on the hardwood floor as she moved around the desk, and he heard the _snick_ of the latch as she closed her office door. Then the footsteps returned the way they had come, and she settled back into her own chair. All was quiet. Luke did not dare look. He tasted bile in the back of his throat. He had never been so frightened, not even on the day They had taken him away from Mark. This was a child's fear of the monster in the closet and the beast in the basement, the nameless dread of the deep shadows beneath the trees in the dead of night.

"Eronil."

Her voice was quiet, mild, perfectly calm. Luke opened his eyes in the shadowy crevasse between his arms and his knees. He had not been maimed. Nothing had happened. He carefully raised his head and saw Yancey watching him with an amused little smile. "My name is Eronil, Luke. It means _the-one-who-has-fallen_. We all have names like that, you know—the-one-who-something-or-other. I have a brother who is _the-one-who-breaks_ , and my father is _the-one-who-soars_. We are named for…oh, it's a difficult translation, but you might call it our First Important Act. You might be interested to know that my name was changed after my time as a student here. It used to be _the-one-who-shines_."

Feeling a little ashamed—but also sweating—Luke put his feet back on the floor. "Oh. Uh, why…why did you change it?"

"I didn't change it. It was changed. It was the ruling of my clan. I fell—I failed. I was punished for it. However, I have been given the opportunity to redeem myself…and it never occurred to me that my secret could be so easily discovered by a first-year student. And so, Lucas Baxter, the-one-who-pokes-his-nose-where-he-should-not, you will now describe to me in excruciating detail how you came by this knowledge."

"I didn't know." He managed to smile. "I guessed."

She laughed, and made a little _come on, come on_ gesture with her hand. So he told. It seemed ridiculously mundane, suddenly, to sit in the cozy office and discuss with his professor the fact that she was not human; his sense of unreality had faded and everything was sharp and clear and ordinary. Yancey listened attentively, brow knitted, and Luke knew that she was wondering how many other students might have guessed, might be walking down the same paths Luke had followed toward the truth. Thankfully, none of them would have the clues that Mr Parker and Lunsford had given him. He even told her about the conversation he had overheard in _The Lonely Banshee_ , feeling a little guilty for betraying Mr Parker and Lunsford but unwilling to lie. He watched her face when he repeated Lunsford's words about her, but she was unreadable. When he began the tale of his trip to the Heart Ring, however, she cut him off.

"Wait. You broke curfew and left campus in the middle of the night? _Alone?_ "

"Well, um, yes."

She sighed. "The tunnels. Those doors should have been locked…and they will be, from now on. I ought to put you under dorm arrest for a month. I would, except that everyone would wonder why. You're either very brave or very foolish, Luke. Go on."

He told her everything, and even produced the handwritten version of his conversation with the kitsune spirit. When he had finished, she sighed and pushed her hands through her dark hair, and she looked so tired that Luke felt a pang of guilt, sharp and bitter. He had forced her to this.

"The-one-who-reveals-what-was-hidden," she said quietly. "So I name you, child. You must be half kitsune yourself, to rely so heavily on intuition and instinct. You haven't told anyone?"

"No, ma'am."

She looked at him sharply. "Not Jackson? Andromeda? David? _No one?_ "

Luke was startled by her intensity. "No, not even them. I didn't want to, in case I was wrong. I haven't told anyone. I promise."

Yancey looked at him a moment more, then stretched out her arms across the desk and leaned closer, holding her hands palms-up. Luke hesitated, and then extended his own arms; she took hold of his wrists with an iron grip. He felt fear again, but although she looked very grave, she did not look angry. He wrapped his own fingers around her wrists. Across the stretch of the desk she stared at him, and spoke quickly and softly. "I am going to bind you to this secret, Lucas Baxter. This isn't wizard magic—this is _my_ magic. You will be physically unable to speak of this to anyone until I release you from your binding, if ever. This is very important, but you have to agree to it for the magic to work. Will you keep my secret?"

Something green swirled in the back of her eyes. Luke tried to swallow and his dry throat clicked. "Yes," he said. "I'll keep it."

She released him and leaned back, rubbing her forehead. "It's a state secret, too, you know," she said. "Oh, Zander knows, and several of the professors, but no one else. I'm not a schoolteacher by trade—I work for the Administration. In fact, I'm pretty high up in the Department of Magical Cooperation. I'm not on the official staff list, but the reason for that should be obvious to you now. They can't admit I'm there, because I'm not allowed to be conspicuous. I'm their secret weapon."

"Then…why _are_ you here? Everyone knows Emerald Hill, and now you're a teacher here. Isn't that conspicuous? Aren't you risking…" _Discovery_ , he wanted to say, but the word stuck in his mouth.

"Yes, it is a great risk. But I wouldn't be risking it if the need were not greater still. I'm here for you, Luke—for the students of Emerald Hill. And the professors, too, though many of them would laugh at the thought. Until further notice, I am the official guardian angel of this establishment. I watch over it night and day."

"Why? Are we in danger?"

"Not presently." Yancey looked out the window at the dark campus and her face was serene. "But don't worry. I'm not as fragile as I look."

Luke nodded. He believed it. "Why were your eyes green, in those yearbook photos?"

"Well, when it comes to holding a human form, the most difficult things to change are hair and eye color. The hair color I managed, but I couldn't get the hang of changing my eyes and keeping them that way, so I was allowed to leave them green instead of risking exposure with eyes that wouldn't stay one color. Long practice has improved my talent."

"What's your real hair color?"

"What, no clever guesses for that?" She smiled. "When I touched the gate, the yellow coloring spread so far that several of my classmates had their colors overtaken. That was a little scary—I thought I would be discovered right then, before I had even gotten to the actual school."

"So why did you come to Emerald Hill? They really trusted you that much, when you were that young?"

Yancey laughed. "Age is relative, Mister Baxter. I was four hundred and twenty-two years old when I was enrolled at Emerald Hill. Young among my own kind. And yet now I have almost caught up with my own father in terms of physical maturity. Living in a human body has accelerated my aging."

Luke leaned forward, fascinated. "Kitsunes can die?"

"Oh, yes. We aren't like unicorns. We can live for several thousand years, but in the end we go the way of all mortals. But to answer your previous question: I came here to practice, of course. I was chosen to be an ambassador to the wizarding world, to teach them about my own kind, and to teach my own kind about humans. To do so, I would need to not only take the shape of a human, but live among them, immerse myself in their culture. It would not be possible for a human to live among kitsunes, and so I was tasked with learning to comprehend humanity, which is much more difficult than you might think. The best way to learn, of course, is by doing. I learned about humans by living as one of them. The one who shines—I was to be a light of understanding and cooperation to both peoples."

"Then…what went wrong?"

"I broke the rules of my contract. I had to leave Emerald Hill. But I had learned so much, and this knowledge was so valuable, that eventually I was allowed to return, to work for the Administration. Things have gone so well that when the safety of Emerald Hill was in question, I requested to be posted here. Undercover, of course. That both the Administration and my own people allowed this is a very good sign. I will earn back my rightful name.

"And so you see, Luke, the secret you carry is not only for my sake, but for yourself and all of your fellow students. It's not that I wouldn't trust you, necessarily, but I think we'll both feel better with the binding I've placed on you. So keep your peace, study hard, and dream of good things. This campus is under my guardianship."

She spoke with a finality that told Luke their meeting was over. He stood, but then hesitated. "Um," he said. Did he dare ask? He had to know. "What about Doctor Lunsford?"

Yancey's face was a mask. "What about him?" she said quietly.

"You…why did you…"

She drew in a breath. "You think I…? Oh Luke. Oh, no. I see now why you were so afraid." She hung her head for a moment.

 _His name is an arrow of shame that pierces us_ , thought Luke, watching her carefully.

"It was not me. That is a story for another time, but you at least should know that it was not me. I would not have hurt him then, and I would not hurt him now."

Luke was surprised to feel anger stirring in him, remembering the heaviness

 _(it's damn hard)_

in Lunsford's voice. "But you _do_ hurt him. Every day."

Her eyes opened wide in shock but she had no chance to respond, for just then there was a knock on the door. They both jumped. It was Luke who broke their eye contact, feeling a little light-headed. He felt like he had enough questions to fill a book, but for the moment there was nothing more to say; he opened the door and walked past a third-term girl who had arrived for her appointment, holding a cage of mice and looking worried.

In the hallway Luke paused, chewing on his lip, and then glanced at one of the large clocks that were posted on the walls at regular intervals. He started walking, and then he was jogging. Down two flight of steps, down the corridor to the central hub of White Hall, across the crowded cafeteria. By now he was running. He ran the entire length of the west wing and burst through the swinging double-doors that led to the Chemistry tunnels, and leaped down two more flights of stairs two steps at a time. His sneakers skidded to a stop on the cobblestone floor.

He did not knock, feeling too agitated to wait. The door swung open and Lunsford turned, startled, holding several glass beakers that he had been reshelving. His face relaxed when he saw Luke. "Lucas," he said, "what are you doing out and about?" Then he looked more closely at the boy. "What is it? Are you all right?" He hurriedly put the beakers on a counter and came toward Luke.

Luke was breathing heavily after the long run. He had no idea what he was going to say, and in the end he said nothing at all, because faced with Lunsford's gentle, twisted smile and obvious warmth, his words fled and his eyes filled with tears.

The man's face broke and he went to Luke with his arms out; Luke fell into the embrace and clutched at Lunsford's lab coat, his breath hitching with sobs. He wept for Mark, he wept for his mother and his father, he wept for Lunsford's clean youthful face. But most of all, he wept for the forgiveness that had hit him like a train.

After a time he pulled away, wiping at his cheeks with the heel of a hand. "I'm sorry," he said. "For being a jerk."

"You weren't." Lunsford held Luke's shoulders. "…Well, no, that's a lie. You were kind of a jerk."

Luke had to laugh. "You're coming with us for Christmas, right? To Kentucky?"

"Of course. And since I'm a teacher, we get to cheat a bit and travel out of Zander's office again. First thing next Thursday morning. Deal?"

"Deal."

Jackson was so overjoyed at the reconciliation between Luke and Lunsford that he could hardly concentrate on studying over the weekend. He asked repeatedly what had finally brought Luke around, and Luke gave evasive answers until his clear unwillingness to talk about it finally got through to Jackson. Luke felt bad about not being able to tell him. He thought about trying, just to see what sort of effect Yancey's promise-binding might have, but decided against it. As much as he was able, he wanted to keep the secret by his own will.

Midterm exams arrived, with all their stress and frenzy. Instead of walking to class, chatting and goofing around, students hurried everywhere, flipping through notebooks and textbooks as they walked, intent, grim. In Botany, Luke had to repot a Saturnian Fly-Trap, the larger, uglier, mean-tempered cousin of the little carnivorous plants known to Muggles; then he had to feed it several large grasshoppers and use the proper incantation to send it to sleep. Then it was on to History, where the exam was of a more practical sort: a section of multiple-choice questions and a short essay to be written.

For Charms, he and his classmates performed the Light Levitation, Feather Duster, and Minor Repair charms, as well as one they had been told to study but had not practiced as a class, the effect of which was a shower of red sparks from the tip of the wand, a universal sign of danger and a request for help. Monday's final midterm was Transfiguration, the turning of a teaspoon into a teacup. It was a challenge because the porcelain of the cup was not something they had studied in detail, but Luke concentrated and did fairly well, even managing to add a slightly asymmetrical pattern around the edge of the cup. Yancey nodded with approval and made a note on her clipboard, not showing him any attention beyond the ordinary. Luke couldn't decide whether this made him feel grateful or snubbed.

Tuesday's Chemistry exam was the one Luke was most nervous about, but thanks to the extra practice he had put in with Jackson, he managed a passable Pixie Repellent. Lunsford poured Luke's final product into a plastic bottle and attached a spray-nozzle to the top, and then sprayed a little potted flower; the flower shivered and the dirt steamed a little, but it did not die, nor burst into flames (as was the case for an unfortunate member of Luke's class). After this was Strategy and Dueling, where they were made to attempt the Jelly-Legs Jinx on one another in pairs. They had only learned the basics of that spell in the past few weeks, and though it had been very entertaining to practice, when it came to an exam they were all deadly serious. A Royal Dragon student was reprimanded by Abernathy for retaliating with the Disarming hex after being successfully hit with Jelly-Legs (but it seemed to Luke that the professor was secretly pleased).

There was no midterm for Beginning Flying, for which Luke was duly grateful. He did not feel much need to study for his only remaining exam, Life Studies, though he did help a group of his roommates, all wizard-born, who were having trouble negotiating the needle and thread that were part of the upcoming exam.

On Wednesday, after Luke had successfully sewn up a tear in a piece of fabric and correctly installed batteries in a flashlight, he was free to go. Jackson's Wednesday exam was Chemistry, and that would take a little longer; besides, they wouldn't be leaving until the following morning, to allow Lunsford time to finish up his end-of-semester paperwork. Luke used the free time to pack a suitcase for Christmas break. It felt strange to not be taking his robes with him, which made him smile, remembering his anxiety about not being able to perform any magic. After one semester at Emerald Hill, he already felt older and wiser.

He folded his arms on the windowsill and watched the students down in the courtyard, running here and there with suitcases, in various stages of dress between their student robes and holiday plainclothes. The vast majority of students would be escorted in groups by professors down to the meadow where the first-terms had waited to receive their styles and heralds, and would be conveyed by bus to Red River, where there were several public fireplaces ready to send them home one by one. There were some students who would be staying at Emerald Hill over the break for various reasons, and Luke almost envied them. But he remembered that Lunsford would be at the Parkers' house for the entire break, and that was cheering.

Grimalkin—whose flat kitten face had grown into a pretty long-nosed adult face—stretched and rolled over on the bed, eventually making her way to the window and giving Luke a rusty _miaow_ by way of greeting. He petted her, but she was looking out the window. Seconds later, Jackson came into sight, crossing the courtyard and leaping up the steps to the Sphinx dormitory with his robes hanging open.

"You're one smart cat, you know that?" Luke told Grimalkin, rubbing her ears. She purred.

By evening Emerald Hill was a lonely place, very nearly deserted. It was too cold for flying, though they did walk by the stadium to check the standings: Sphinx was in the lead 3-0, with Gryphon and Unicorn tied behind them at 2-1. White Hall echoed with their footsteps; the few remaining students were scattered throughout, and when Jackson shouted to test the echoes, several of them joined in until the entire enormous space was ringing. Zander himself appeared at the top of the steps leading to his office, and bellowed so loudly that he drowned out all the other voices; he then laughed heartily and declared that he had won, and could that please be the end of it.

"Why doesn't Luns-…uh, Uncle Heath, why doesn't he like Zander?" asked Luke, chopping up his meatloaf with a fork so he could mix it with the mashed potatoes.

"Duhro," said Jackson with a very full mouth. He swallowed. "Never has. _I_ like him, though."

This small piece of defiance from his normally anxious-to-please friend made Luke smile. "Me, too."

 _Dear Mark:_

 _I'll be at the Parkers's house for Christmas. Is your phone fixed yet? Let me know so I can call you. If you have time, it would be great if you could come visit for a day. How is it going with Kelly? Sorry I haven't written in a while. School keeps me busy. We just had mid terms but I think I did really good. I like it here._

 _See you soon (?)_

 _Luke_

They met Lunsford at the foot of the steps to Zander's office, toting their suitcases. Toodle-oo had already been sent to Kentucky, and Grimalkin was tucked safely into her traveling case under Luke's arm. Lunsford, too, had a small bag, and he led the way up the steps and past Cynthia Redding's desk. Luke was getting used to that walk. The principal and vice-principal were both out, being in a conference with the Strategy and Dueling teachers, but Doctor Yancey was there, sitting in a leather-padded chair beside Zander's desk and sifting through official-looking documents. She looked up as they entered, but appeared neither surprised nor disturbed.

"Hello, Luke. Nice to see you again, Jackson." Then she looked at Lunsford, her cool, pleasant expression unchanged. "Professor."

Lunsford nodded, a brief bob of his head. "Doctor Yancey. We'll be going now."

"Of course." Yancey reached for her wand but Lunsford was quicker, striding across the office and lighting the fire with his own wand. He kept his back to her as Luke and Jackson followed. Jackson went through first. Luke looked over his shoulder at Yancey, who gave him a reassuring smile: _it's okay_. But it wasn't, and Luke knew it. He did not think either Yancey or Lunsford would give him the answers he wanted.

"Your turn, Lucas," said Lunsford.

Luke took a small handful of the Floo powder, and then hesitated. "Um," he said, feeling guilty without being quite sure why. "If I say _home_ , I don't…I'm not sure where it would take me."

"That's fine," said Lunsford. "Just say, _Lionel Parker's house_."

So Luke did, and it worked.


	24. Chapter 24 (Interlude)

" _He knows."_

 _His shoulders go rigid, he pulls in his neck. A defensive posture. Through the gray clouds of his doubt (wet ashes/endless flow of susurrus), the low simmering red of his anger and resentment (seared bone/boiling soup), the agonized pale streaks of hurt and confusion still not subdued—and every time I see him, I am still surprised by this—there stabs a bolt of searing yellow: fear (piss and acrid rot/gnawing teeth of a thousand mice). It leaches out, makes all the other colors look jaundiced (curdled/harsh). He turns slowly, against what he believes to be his better judgment, though even with his face pointed in my direction he cannot meet my eyes. I don't blame him. His lips part, a crack in the stone carving of his face, and a word croaks out: "Jack?"_

 _"No. No offense, but if it were Jack, we would already have taken drastic action." I am trying to be glib, but beneath the soothing snow of his relief (mint and wine/harp and piano) the resentment glows more brightly, running through his veins as lava flows through rock. He smells of iron; he will break before he bends. "It's Luke," I tell him._

 _"How?" Another word torn from him, crossing the distance between us like a tossed stone._

 _"Intuition and lucky guesses. And some yearbook photos I forgot to alter." That's been taken care of by now, of course. Damn those eyes._

 _"How much?"_

 _"Only what I am. He suspects the rest, though. So_ … _be careful." I keep my voice neutral. Total control: this is my mantra. No wonder they fear me. I'm hardly_ Ikitsun _anymore. Control is anathema to my kind. (My kind?) (Stop. Not the time for existential musings.) His eyes are on me now, solid walls behind them. When was the last time he looked at my face?_

 _"Zander?"_

 _"Luke has been bound to the secret. More than that, he is a prudent child. We have nothing to fear from him."_

 _He does not move. I have not answered his question._

 _"I have not told Zander." Gerald would consider this strike two against Luke, and that might be excuse enough to send him home. I don't want that. Neither does the man with stormclouds for eyes. I smell it on him: he loves the child. It's a scent I recall, but this is better. Cleaner. Purer. There is no selfishness in it to taint the clarity of the color (scent/sound)._

 _It fades. He is watching me. Dangerous. The doubt rolls off of him like banks of heavy fog. It is my move now. It always has been._

 _I return to the papers. Brisk, busy, dismissive. A final glance: I want to throw it like a dart, but instead I lob it carelessly, letting it roll over his features without pause. "Merry Christmas, Professor." Perfect tone, like the glance: not unfriendly, but with no warmth._

 _Total control._

 _He does not respond. In seconds he is gone. His doubt, gone smoglike and stale, clings to me. I lower thick curtains around the stage of my mind, focusing in the spotlight the work that is before me. Prepare. Anticipate. Guard. The children, the children, the children._

 _By the time Gerald returns, there is no trace of doubt upon me._


	25. Chapter 25

_Hey Mucus,_

 _I'll be with Kelly's family on Christmas, but she lives in Tennessee, only a couple hours from where you are with the Parkers. So we'll swing by on Christmas Eve. See you then._

 _Mark_

* * *

The letter was in Luke's pocket, as a sort of good-luck charm, when they went into town. It was cramped in the Parkers' station wagon—Luke and Jackson had to ride in the very back, and Mrs Parker sat in the backseat with her three daughters, the baby on her lap. Mr Parker drove, and Lunsford had the passenger seat. All week, the girls and Jackson hadn't been able to stop talking about how great it was that their Uncle Heath was staying with them for the whole holiday break; apparently he usually only came for a day or two, and his extended visit was a special treat.

Now it was December 23, and they were making a final run to town before settling in for their family festivities. It was tradition that no one left the house on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, that they would spend those two days all together, so preparation was necessary. Mrs Parker had some groceries to purchase, while Mr Parker and the kids were going to pick out their tree. The letter from Mark had arrived only the day before, and Luke had realized with panic that he did not have a gift for his brother. Everyone else being so busy, Luke confided his worry to Lunsford, who had immediately agreed to help him find a gift while they were in town.

Luke was glad to have Lunsford there. Mr Parker was a veritable Santa himself, a long-time aficionado of the entire Christmas season who walked around booming carols all day. Jackson and his sisters were a whirlwind of excitement, helping to decorate the house, pestering Mary for treats as she cooked, performing elaborate invented "snow dances" to encourage a white Christmas. Luke joined in occasionally, but was finding it difficult to adjust to a new set of holiday traditions. It didn't bother him to watch Mr Parker, but every time he saw Mrs Parker, he missed his mother.

 _Seven months ago_. Only seven months—Luke found that hard to believe. The worst part was to realize how little he had even thought about his mother since school had started. Magic and mystery and studying and intrigue had pushed from his mind the fact that he was an orphan, that last Christmas it had been him and Mark and their mother stringing popcorn, hanging the old glass ornaments from a special set that their mother had gotten when she was a girl, each one with a meaning and a story. Now he was hundreds of miles from that house, and their mother was in the ground, and Mark could never know that Luke was training to be a wizard. It all made him feel tired, and he watched the antics of Jackson and the girls from the safety of an armchair, legs curled beneath him. He smiled to see them, but felt little desire to participate.

And that was why he was glad for Lunsford's presence, because Lunsford seemed nearly as out of place as Luke felt. Mrs Parker was a gentle soul, but years with Mr Parker and their growing children had brought her out of her shell, and she sang and danced through the kitchen, swatting at the kids (and her husband) when they tried to sneak a taste of whatever holiday treat she was concocting. But Lunsford, though he clearly adored his family, was as quiet and introspective around them as he had always been at school. Luke found that comforting, a sort of anchor for his tumultuous inner life in this holiday atmosphere.

Several times he was on the verge of asking what had delayed Lunsford's arrival. Luke had stumbled out of the fireplace into Mr Parker's waiting arms, but there had been a space of almost two minutes before Lunsford had appeared: not enough to cause concern, and no one else even seemed to have noticed, but it caused little alarm bells to sound in the back of Luke's mind. Upon arrival, Lunsford had immediately composed himself and greeted his family with smiles and embraces, but Luke had been watching and had seen the man's face as he appeared. He had stepped out of the green flames looking confused, angry, and very tired.

 _What did she say?_ Luke wanted to ask. _What did_ _you_ _say?_

But he couldn't bring himself to actually speak those words. Instead, he had decided to make it his personal mission to give Lunsford as happy a Christmas as possible. He had nothing to give the man as a gift—but unlike with Mark, this didn't make Luke panic. It was different, somehow, with Lunsford, if only because Lunsford was an adult. Adults sometimes gave each other Christmas gifts, Luke knew, but he himself would feel presumptuous giving a present to any adult other than his mother. Mark was technically an adult, but he had cheerfully decided that that didn't count—he was a brother, and he and Luke had always given each other gifts.

Vicksburg was not large, but its main street was beautifully decorated. Each streetlamp had a large wreath with twinkling white lights and a big red bow, and long garlands were strung between the buildings to cross the street above the cars and pedestrians. Almost every shop had a Christmas tree in its front window, all of them different, all of them wonderful. The big Baptist church on the corner had a large Nativity scene (though not as good, Luke thought, as the one outside the church at Emerald Hill), and the little park was full of wire sculptures lined with lights that made beautiful glowing pictures after dark; the Parkers had all gone to see them a few days ago, following other families along the paths among the reindeer, snowmen, and Santas made of rainbow lights.

Luke and Lunsford wandered in and out of shops at their leisure; Luke enjoyed being one anonymous face in the animated throng of Christmas shoppers, and Lunsford appeared to be in no hurry, letting Luke set the pace and musing with him over the trinkets and toys. One store had a large display of Christmas ornaments, hammered metal in various shapes that could be inscribed with names and dates. The shop was crowded, and the passage of the shoppers set the ornaments rocking in the air currents, turning and flashing in the light. Luke stopped to watch them for a moment, almost mesmerized. He found himself speaking.

"My mom had this really old set of ornaments," he said. "Glass. They were a present from her grandma, I think, when she married my dad. There were twelve, and she kept them in a special little box, and every year she let me and Mark take turns hanging them so we each got to hang six. We both always wanted to be the one to hang the bird. Mark's a lot older than me, but he still always wanted to hang the bird. I mean, it didn't really hang, it had a little clip on its feet that you could clip onto the branch, and it perched there. There was a real feather in its tail. And every ornament meant something different. That made them all special. But we both really liked the bird."

None of the shoppers had noticed his quiet speech, but Luke could feel Lunsford just behind him, and his gut twisted. He had never shared anything so personal with this man, who was more than his professor but not quite his uncle, not really a friend but not really family, either. After a moment more of watching the shining ornaments, Lunsford asked: "What special meaning did the bird have?"

Luke had to think for a moment. His mother had always recited the meanings as she took each ornament from the box, a singsong chant that had rhythm but no rhyme. _An angel for guidance, a house to shelter you, a rabbit for hope, a teapot for sharing, a little bird for_ —

"Happiness," he said. "The bird was for happiness."

The ornaments blurred before his eyes, smears of silver and golden light, and Luke bowed his head, ashamed to be crying in the middle of a store. Mark would call him a crybaby and punch him in the arm. His mother would have babied him, pulling him close, asking what was wrong, a comfort that he both craved and disdained, particularly when Mark was watching.

Lunsford put a hand on Luke's shoulder. It wasn't the rough, affectionate but tentative touch that Lionel Parker sometimes gave, a quick shake of the shoulders or a pat on the back. There was nothing complicated about this, nothing to puzzle over, nothing to figure out. Lunsford understood grief, and his simple touch, the adult bulk of his presence behind Luke, was enough.

A few shops over, in an antique store that smelled of dust and wood polish, Luke bought a pocket-watch for his brother. It was tarnished and had a few parts missing, which made it inexpensive enough to be within Luke's budget, and Lunsford swore that Mr Parker would be able to fix it up. It went into a little box which Luke carried in a paper bag, feeling very proud, all of his worries—and a lot of the heaviness he had felt about the Christmas season—blown away. It was a gray day and cold, and Lunsford bought them hot chocolate from a man who had a little cart on the street. They warmed their gloved hands on the tin mugs and walked through the park, watching children run through the wire sculptures. There were even some kids about Luke's age, but he felt removed from them, and couldn't imagine playing the way they did. Though he could understand their games, he felt nothing but faint nostalgia (the same feeling he would experience in later years when he saw his childhood toys). He wondered what combination of magic and grief had made such a change in him.

"So you know about Doctor Yancey."

The statement from Lunsford was so abrupt, breaking in on Luke's thoughts, that he almost spilled his hot chocolate, and he took a sip quickly enough to scald his tongue, stalling for time. But Lunsford was watching him, and all he could say was the truth.

"Well, yeah." He held his cup close beneath his chin so that the steam washed up over his face, warming his cheeks. Lunsford did not look angry, only curious, so Luke found the courage to say, "So that's what she told you after I left? In Zander's office?"

"Hm." Lunsford chuckled down at his own cup. "You're pretty observant. Tell me, were you awake at the restaurant in Red River?"

Luke hung his head, no longer needing the steam to warm his flushed cheeks. "Yeah. I'm really sorry."

"It's okay." Lunsford squeezed Luke's shoulders with one arm briefly as they resumed walking. "Just don't do it again."

Luke smiled, but then another thought struck him and his shame returned forcefully. His inclination was, of course, to not remind Lunsford of that moment, but Lunsford had been so understanding that Luke couldn't bear to carry the weight of more guilt. "And I'm sorry for…well, at Andi's party, when I…"

Lunsford raised a hand, quieting him. "We all say hurtful things at times, mostly because we don't understand the other person's situation. Remember that, Lucas. There are a lot of unknowns to take into account before we can make judgments."

Luke nodded vigorously. "So…how many people at Emerald Hill know about…about her?"

"Principal Zander, of course, and Ms. Redding, myself and, I think, maybe ten other professors. And one student." He nudged Luke with an elbow. "Mostly just the teachers who are part of the defense plan for the school, should it ever come to that. They need to know, so they would follow her orders immediately."

" _Her_ orders? What about Zander?"

"Well, of course Principal Zander has authority. He worked for the Administration, did you know that?"

"No. What did he do?"

"He was in the National Security branch. Protecting our borders, arresting criminals, working to develop new…" Lunsford cleared his throat, his eyes darting to one side in a surreptitious glance at the cheerful park around them, and Luke was reminded suddenly where they were. It wasn't the same as being on a New York City street, where Doctor Yancey had spoken to Luke and Jackson openly about magic; this was a small rural town, and they did not have the privacy of anonymity. "New techniques," continued Lunsford in a normal tone of voice, "for use in Strategy classes."

"Sort of like police?" Luke was careful, vetting his sentences before they left his mouth to be sure that he made no overt reference to magic.

"Yes, very much like that. He was there for thirteen years. Then he applied for a job teaching at the school, because that's where his passion has always been—teaching. He was hired to teach Advanced Strategy. But he has always been a consultant for the Admin."

Luke watched Lunsford carefully. The words in themselves sounded admiring, but the way Lunsford said them was flat, a simple list of facts. "Uncle Heath," said Luke—the first time he had called the man this to his face, so it was sure to get his attention—"why don't you like Principal Zander?"

Lunsford looked startled. "Perception like yours, Lucas, is a sort of magic in itself. It's almost dangerous. …But it's a fair question. It has to do with this whole story, with Doctor Yancey and all. But that's not something I'm ready to talk about yet. I haven't even discussed it with Lionel, and he's my closest friend. It's…" He laughed suddenly. "It's one big ridiculous grown-up mess, is what it is. But I'll tell you one day," he added, forestalling Luke's offense at being excluded from "grown-up" matters. "I will. I promise. When you feel like you're ready, ask me again. I'll tell you."

And he shook Luke's hand, a very formal gesture that surprised and pleased Luke. They returned their empty tin cups at the hot chocolate cart and made their way to the corner of Main and Spruce Street, where they had arranged to meet the Parkers. They didn't have to wait long; within minutes a cheerful honking announced the family's arrival. There was an enormous Frasier fir tree tied to the top of the car, and before it had even come to a complete stop, Jackson was leaning out the back window and waving with both arms. Pushing aside fragrant green boughs, Luke climbed into the back of the station wagon, over Jackson's outstretched legs in their snow-crusted tweed pants.

"Isn't it a great tree?" Jackson shouted, rubbing his hands together. "We've gotta trim the bottom when we get home or it won't stand up in the house. Dad always lets me help. Wanna help, too?"

"Sure," said Luke, dusting a rime of snow from his boots. There was a musty old flannel blanket in the back with them, and he pulled it over his legs. He showed Jackson the watch he had bought for his brother, and Jackson enthusiastically agreed that his father would be able to fix it without any trouble. Then he suddenly got quiet, and Luke recognized the expression of deep thought on his friend's face. "What?" he said.

In the other seats, the rest of the family was singing "O Christmas Tree" loudly and off-key, the sort of activity that Jackson would normally join with gusto, but the large aura of his cheer had dissipated, leaving a smaller, pensive boy. He looked at Luke, and in the winter light his gray eyes looked translucent, like mirrors Luke could almost see through. Luke was shocked by the change, and for the first time he understood at least part of the reason Jackson had been chosen by the sphinx; there were untapped depths in his boisterous friend. He wondered—a flickering minnow of thought that was gone in an instant—what Jackson would be like as a grown man.

"I didn't get you anything," said Jackson.

"Oh," said Luke, collecting his scattered thoughts. "Aw man, Jack, that's okay. I didn't get anything for you, either."

"But you got something for Mark."

"Well, yeah. He's my brother." The instant the words left his mouth, Luke realized his mistake. He winced visibly, but Jackson didn't move, watching him with those strange shiny eyes. "I mean…come on, Jack, I get to see you every day. You're my best friend. I don't get to see Mark at all."

And just like that, it was gone. The familiar grin spread over Jackson's face as he wrapped his arms around his knees. "I'm your best friend?"

Luke grinned back, and kicked Jackson in the shin. "Of course you are."

This instigated a brief but spirited wrestling match in the back of the station wagon, ended by the mother, who reached back and swatted randomly until she had landed enough blows to make her point.

Snow flurries were falling by the time they arrived at the house on Sundown Lane. The daughters helped their mother bring in the bags of groceries, and Luke and Jackson assisted with the trimming of the base of the Christmas tree. It was their job to throw themselves across the tree as it lay on the ground, digging into the crusted snow with boots and gloved fingers to hold it as still as possible while Mr Parker sawed a six-inch piece from the bottom of the trunk. Lunsford watched, standing under the eave of the house with hands deep in his pockets, smiling as Luke and Jackson shoved and shouted, and he and Mr Parker carried the tree into the house after the lower branches had been trimmed. Mrs Parker had made hot tea with honey, and the children sat on the floor wrapped in blankets with their warm mugs, watching Mr Parker and Lunsford set up the tree in the old metal stand with the chipping paint.

The entire evening was spent decorating the tree, and Luke found himself enjoying it very much. The ornaments and lights were different from those of his previous life, but the smell of the tree was the same, that deep fresh tang that seemed to travel all the way to his brain when he inhaled, only increasing in potency as it gradually lost the last of the outdoor chill. Lunsford even got in on it; being the tallest person in the house, he was assigned the job of putting the star on top of the tree. The den had a high ceiling, however, and Lunsford had to stand on a chair to manage it, leaning at a precarious angle while the others shouted instructions.

When the star was successfully attached, Luke nudged Jackson. "Isn't it upside-down?"

"Yes," said Mrs Parker, who had heard him. "When Lionel and I first married, we didn't have much money, and this was the only star we could afford for our first Christmas tree. A factory defect. It made us laugh. Now it just wouldn't feel like Christmas with a right-side-up star."

Mr Parker put an arm around his wife's shoulders and kissed her cheek.

Later, as the girls were clearing away the dishes from dinner, Luke brought the broken pocket watch to Mr Parker, who put on a pair of reading glasses to look closely at the gearwork. "Well," he said, "it's missing a spring here, see? So that little bar can't turn. And a few of these gears are pretty rusted."

"Oh." Luke was crushingly disappointed. "I was gonna give it to my brother."

"And so you shall!" Mr Parker grinned and clapped Luke on the shoulder. "Have you forgotten who you're talking to? _Jack_ ," he shouted, " _go get my wand_."

Rapid-fire footsteps and several thumps sounded from elsewhere in the house, accompanied by a cry of frustration from Mrs Parker. In a moment Jackson appeared, trailing a bedsheet from his shoulders like a cape, his head looking lopsided from a half-finished haircut. "Here Dad!" he yelled, dropping the box on the kitchen table and fleeing back to his mother.

Mr Parker extracted his wand and passed it over the innards of the watch several times, muttering spells opaque to Luke, who watched with fascination. There was a sighing breath of air and a metallic twinkle, followed by several small movements among the gears and springs and a few tiny clicks as everything fell into place. The missing spring was there, the rust was gone. Lionel closed the back of the watch and wound it, and when he handed it to Luke it was ticking smoothly.

" _Wow_ ," said Luke with feeling. "I had no idea you could do that! How did you just…make the stuff appear? How did you know what to say?"

"I didn't have to." Mr Parker winked. "A true education in magic, my young friend, doesn't tell you what to say. All the magic you'll ever be able to summon is already right here." He tapped Luke's chest. "What they're teaching you is how to call it, and how to channel it. Once you've got the hang of it, there's really not much you _can't_ do. So pay attention in class, huh?"

"Yes, sir." Luke grinned.

Then came the grand unveiling of the tree, for which they turned off all the lights in the house and sat in hushed anticipation while Mr Parker fumbled for the plug. The tree burst into multicolored brilliance, copious amounts of tinsel giving it—to Luke's eye, at least—an almost otherworldly shimmer. The children applauded and the adults murmured appreciation. Jackson declared it to be the best tree the family had ever had. "He says that every year," whispered Margaret to Luke.

* * *

Christmas Eve dawned clear and cold, the sort of crystalline winter day that seems too bright to look at directly, with fresh snowfall blanketing the world in white and limning every twig with brilliance. While the adults were still waking up over coffee, the children climbed into coats, hats, scarves, gloves, and boots and ran out into the bright morning. They began a snowman, which enterprise dissolved into a snowball fight, eventually retreating to the porch soaked and shivering.

"When will Mark get here?" asked Jackson, his voice slightly muffled beneath the clean sweater he was pulling on.

"Dunno," Luke said. "His letter just said on Christmas Eve. So any time, I guess." The thought brought on a swooping sensation in his stomach, not unlike what he had experienced his first time on a broom.

The mother had just called the family to lunch when Rachel, passing by a window that looked out on the driveway, suddenly squealed. "There's a car!" she shouted. "A car! Luke, it's your brother!"

Mr Parker entered the kitchen and clapped his hands. "Everyone remember," he said loudly, "Mark and…Kelly?" (He looked to Luke for confirmation, and Luke nodded.) "Mark and Kelly know nothing about magic or Emerald Hill, so absolutely no mention of those things." The girls nodded solemnly; this was something they were used to. Even Jackson looked subdued, and Luke knew that he was remembering that afternoon in Mark's little cabin in the Appalachian woods.

Luke pulled on his coat and stepped out onto the front porch, pulling the door closed behind him; he wanted to greet his brother alone. Mark's letter had seemed normal enough, but Luke was still worried about the long-term effects of the memory-altering charm.

Mark swung his long legs out of the car and stood there for a moment, leaning on the open door and looking at Luke. "Hey kid," he said at last.

Luke jumped down the porch steps and ran through the snow, throwing his arms around Mark in a tight hug. Mark chuckled and returned the embrace, ruffling Luke's hair. "Man, you look…different. In a good way, I mean. You look older."

"So do you," said Luke. "Thanks for coming, Mark."

"Hey, it's Christmas." Mark gave Luke a little push and stepped aside to close the door, just as a young woman came around the car. "Luke, this is Kelly. Kelly, my kid brother."

Kelly had long dark hair and large gentle eyes the color of chocolate. "It's so nice to meet you, Luke," she said, shaking his hand. "Mark is very proud of you."

"Hi," Luke said. "Come on in, everyone's waiting to meet you."

They were not staying the night and had no suitcases, but Mark grabbed two small packages from the backseat, wrapped in the gaudy paper their mother had always favored. Inside, the Parkers were polite and welcoming, and two extra chairs had already been pulled to the table for lunch. Mark and Mr Parker talked about forestry, and Kelly charmed Margaret and Rachel with stories of her family's three horses. Luke just sat back and soaked it up. His worries had apparently been for nothing; Mark showed no recognition of either Lunsford or Jackson (in person, though Luke had certainly mentioned Jackson in his recent letters), no discomfort, no change in personality or temperament.

The only strange moment came after lunch. Mark hefted the two gifts and handed the larger one to Luke. The smaller one he gave to Jackson, who looked both stunned and delighted. "Wow!" Jackson cried. "Thanks, Mark!"

"Well, open it before you start thanking me," said Mark.

Mrs Parker insisted that all gifts must be opened by the tree, and so the family gathered in the den. Jackson had barely plopped to the floor before he had torn the paper from his package, and opened the little cardboard box. Then he gasped, and lifted into the air a red yo-yo that gleamed in the light from the tree. "It's called a Trickmaster," said Mark.

Luke watched Mark carefully, but Mark was just smiling, looking pleased with himself but not duplicitous. Had a memory leaked through? Luke couldn't tell. Jackson was clearly awed. "Wow," he said again. "It's _so cool_. Are you gonna teach me that trick? Luke said you can hang it from your fingers and make it swing through."

"Sure," said Mark, and Jackson bounced over to him with a whoop of joy.

Luke had always been more methodical about opening presents, and carefully peeled at the wrapping paper until he had removed the entire piece without tearing it. He sat without a word, looking at the box in his lap. He remembered it vividly, could have described it minutely. A rectangular tin box painted red, with a glass window in the top showing the interior, which had been crisscrossed with little tin walls that divided it into twelve squares, and each square held a glass Christmas ornament. Angel, rose, rabbit, teapot, pine cone, Santa, house, fruit, flowers, heart, fish…and there was the little bird with the dyed green feather for a tail, nestled in an old scrap of handkerchief.

He looked up, but Mark was absorbed with Jackson and the yo-yo, though the color in his cheeks suggested that he was avoiding an emotional moment. Mr and Mrs Parker were smiling, but it was Lunsford who held Luke's eye. Only he could guess how deeply Luke was affected by the gift.

Without comment, Luke carefully opened the box and began hanging the ornaments. He didn't speak his mother's old chant, but it was in his head as he took each familiar shape from its square and gave it a place among the lights and tinsel. And when the bird was the only one left, he walked over and handed it to Mark. Mark held it for a moment, then gave a quiet snort of laughter and stood, clipping it into a branch near the top of the tree.

Only then did Luke take the little bag from under the tree and give it to Mark. Inside was the box containing the repaired pocket watch. Mark sat beside Kelly to open it, and when the watch was revealed, he looked stunned. "Woah," he breathed, running a thumb over the glass face. "Luke, man, how'd you afford this?"

"Do you like it?" Luke asked, feeling anxious.

"Well, yeah! Of course! I've never owned anything this bitchin'! Uh, I mean," he fumbled, glancing at the Parkers, "I mean, so cool. It's really great, Mucus."

"Don't call me Mucus," said Luke, but he was grinning.

Mark and Kelly left shortly thereafter; they had to drive several hours to return to Kelly's house in Tennessee. Luke followed them out to the car to say goodbye, while the family gathered on the porch.

Mark started the engine and stepped back out, stuffing his hands into his pockets and leaning against the car. It was already nearing sunset, and white plumes billowed from their mouths with every breath. "Hey," said Mark, "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," said Luke. "Maybe I'll see you this summer?"

"Sure thing. Keep writing. It's good to hear from you." Mark waved up at the Parkers on the porch, and said more quietly, "I feel better, now that I've met them. These are good people."

"Yeah, they are."

"So stay out of trouble, huh?"

"I'll try."

Mark stepped forward and pulled Luke into a brief, rough hug. "Check you later, kid."

As the taillights meandered to the end of the driveway and turned into Sundown Lane, Luke felt a curious sensation of stretching in his chest, as though part of him had gotten into the car along with Mark and was being pulled along, farther and farther. He stood there a few minutes more, until his toes started to feel numb.

In the den that evening, after dinner, Jackson was practicing his yo-yo trick and Lunsford was reading in an armchair. Luke sat on the floor, counting the twelve special ornaments again and again. Then he said, "Uncle Heath? How come Mark remembered about the yo-yo?"

Lunsford lowered his book. "You didn't write to him about it?"

"Well, yeah, but _before_. Not since…since I last saw him. Do you think he remembered?"

"No, it's not as simple as that. Sometimes memories that made a strong impression can leave a sort of residue. He probably saw the yo-yo in a store and bought it on an impulse, without realizing why."

"Oh. That's good."

"Mm-hm." After a pause, Lunsford added, "Mark really loves you, Luke."

"Yeah, I guess he does."

"And no matter how much the two of you change, that's something that will never change."

Luke smiled, then crawled across the carpet to help untangle the yo-yo string from around Jackson's fingers.


	26. Chapter 26

The Christmas trees were gone, but at Emerald Hill winter had settled in. After the break, the only walkways that were salted were those connecting White Hall to the Bastion and to the dormitories. The rest were abandoned to the relentlessly creeping ice, and signs in the dormitories encouraged the students to make use of the connecting tunnels whenever possible. The deciduous trees were black silhouettes against the white sky; the evergreens were bent and slouching beneath the weight of the snow that had settled on their boughs. Every crunching footstep seemed very loud in the bowl of the campus, a world that seemed smaller and more contained in the naked, white winter.

Luke and Jackson had returned to Emerald Hill with Doctor Lunsford on January 2, four days before the beginning of the spring semester. Lunsford had to prepare for his classes, and the boys helped him organize the lab and color-code his seating charts. They did not have much of an attention span for these tasks, however, and when Lunsford caught them playing catch with a large Erlenmeyer flask he sent them out to find something else to occupy their time.

They climbed the steps in the stairwell to ground level, but when Luke headed for the double-doors that would open into the central hub of White Hall, Jackson instead turned and began climbing the next flight of stairs. "Where are you going?" asked Luke.

"I dunno," said Jackson, already on the next landing. "I've never been up here. Let's check it out."

Luke hesitated, remembering his last foray into the unknown, backstage at the theater. But he knew that there were classes held in the upper floors of the west wing, so it was unlikely that there was anything forbidden there. Thus reassured, he leaped up the stairs two at a time to catch up to Jackson.

"What are the classes here?" he asked as they reached the third floor.

"Senior stuff," Jackson replied, referring to seventh-year students. "Some graduate school stuff, too, I think."

"Wait, what's graduate school?"

"Don't you know?" Jackson punched Luke lightly on the shoulder. "Some jobs need special training. Like, to be a teacher, you need more than seven years, and you've gotta study something specific and write a huge report on it. That's how come Uncle Heath's _Doctor_ Lunsford. You know?"

"Oh." That made sense to Luke. He had learned a lot in one semester at Emerald Hill, but it was obvious that he had barely skimmed the top of what there was to learn, and seven years didn't seem like enough. Then something else occurred to him. "Do _all_ witches and wizards get jobs in, uh, magical places? I mean, there's Dragontooth Square, and there's here, and Red River, and the Admin, but are there enough magical jobs for everyone?"

"Nah." Jackson nearly tripped over an untied shoelace, but recovered, climbing a few steps on all fours before continuing normally. "Dad says an awful lot of us have to get jobs in Muggle places. That's why Life Studies is a required course, all seven years. Even though lots of the kids here are Muggle-born and know a lot of the stuff anyway. Even though we've got magic, we've gotta know how to live without it."

They topped the final set of stairs to the top floor, the fifth. There were fewer doors here than on the lower floors, and several of the large rooms were fronted with glass, their contents visible from the hallway. As he and Jackson walked along the curving sweep of the west wing, Luke looked through the glass and saw workspaces filled with arcane instruments, chalkboards densely covered with tiny writing and formulae and diagrams, large tanks of algae-clouded water, and what looked like a tiny, perpetual tornado contained within a glass jar as large as himself.

Then, in the same instant, Luke and Jackson paused, looking down at their feet. To Luke it felt as though his legs had just pushed through a strung wire, but he could see nothing in the hallway. "Did you feel that?" he asked.

"Shh!" Jack held a finger in front of his lips, eyes dramatically wide, and then Luke heard it, too—voices floating down the corridor.

They advanced slowly, and the murmurs coalesced into words. "…coated with diamond dust. Haven't gotten grant approval for the titanium."

"Bummer, girl. But that ought to set you straight, yeah?"

"I think so. If I can work out the discrepancies in the matrix here, see?"

"And you've accounted for energy input?"

"Well, I'm not a total spaz."

"That, like your theory, is open to interpretation."

"Do you even—"

The young woman stopped in mid-sentence, she and her companion wearing identical expressions of surprise as they caught sight of Luke and Jackson peering in, only eyes and noses visible through the glass.

"Well, shit," said the other woman, "it's just a couplea kids."

"Don't swear around the freshies," said the first.

"You can swear around me!" said Jackson, jogging a few yards down the hall to enter the large workspace through the door. (Flustered, Luke followed.) "I know all the—" He stopped, wrinkling his nose. "What's that smell?"

"Be cool, kid, huh?" The first woman—she had very dark skin and hair meticulously coiffed into a sphere framing her face—opened a drawer in the desk she was sitting on and showed them, with a wink, a small, gently smoking snub of what looked like paper. Luke had never seen marijuana before.

"Oh yeah," said Jackson, "I'm cool. What are you doing?"

"Question is, what are _you_ doing?" asked the other woman, who had short coppery hair and bright coppery eyes. "Fifth floor's for graduate students."

"My uncle's a professor here. Doctor Lunsford."

"No kidding? I had him as a second-year fresh. Cool guy. What's with the face, anyway?"

" _Brenda,_ " hissed the dark-skinned woman, lightly backhanding Brenda on the arm. "You're so rude."

"Christ, I was just asking."

 _Swat_. "Don't swear."

"It's not a swear, it's the name of our lord and savior."

"Your ass and my face, Hendricks."

"Now who's swearing?"

They both laughed merrily, and Jackson joined in. Even Luke had to smile, though he still felt uneasy, like a trespasser.

"I'm Brenda," said the coppery-haired girl. "That's Vera. You two are freshies, right?"

"Yup!" said Jackson. "I'm Jack, and this is my best friend Luke."

Vera smiled at Luke with eyes so dark they looked almost black. "You talk, Luke?"

"Well, yeah."

"Kitsune, right?"

"Yeah, I am. How did you know?"

"Getting a Kitsune to speak up is like pulling teeth."

Before Luke could think of a reply to that, Brenda suddenly bounced to her feet—she was plump, and the motion was very much like a bounce—crying, "Hey, watch it!"

Jackson stepped back from the instrument near which he had been hovering, a melon-sized glass globe bound with brass and filled with points of light. "I was just looking," he said, but guilt was written clearly on his face.

"Well, look carefully." Brenda fussed around the globe with a scowl of concentration, minutely adjusting a tiny dial on one side.

"What's it for?" Jackson asked.

"Possibly the most important discovery in the history of humanity."

Vera laughed. "Me, I'm just working for my degree in Ancient Runes. Just a degree isn't good enough for Brenda. No, _she_ has to solve the world's energy problems."

Jackson stared. "Really?"

"Believe it, bucko." Satisfied that the globe was unharmed, Brenda straightened importantly. "Brenda Hendricks, future Nobel laureate."

"How are you gonna do that?" asked Luke.

With surprising grace and speed, Brenda scooped up her wand from a nearby table, put the tip close to her lips, and whispered, " _Lumos_." The wandtip glowed brightly, and she held it out on display for Luke and Jackson.

"So?" said Jackson. "Even I can do that one."

"This is the answer," said Brenda. "Light. That's all you need to know, frosh."

She spoke with finality, and Vera was looking bored, so Luke tugged on Jackson's arm. "We'll let you get back to your work, then."

"Eh, we weren't actually working." Vera took a long drag on the joint. "Just hanging out, you know?"

"Oh. You sure sounded busy, that's all."

To Luke's surprise, both women laughed. "We set up a little alarm," said Vera, "to let us know if someone comes down the hall. That way we can _sound busy_. Doc Feinstein has a way of sneaking up on us."

"Oh, the spell in the hall? We felt it!" said Jackson, looking proud. "I thought I'd tripped on something."

"You _felt_ it?" Vera gave a triumphant crow and pointed at Brenda, whose face went sour. "Girl, I _told_ you you fucked it up!"

"Shut up. I'll fix it."

"Better let me handle it this time."

Luke pulled at Jackson's arm again. As they retreated down the hallway, they could still hear the two women arguing in the comfortable manner of old friends. "I like them," Jackson announced.

"What was that stuff she was smoking? It didn't look like a cigarette."

"Don't you know anything?" But Jackson's grin took the sting out of the words. "That's mary-joo-awna."

"Mary… _Marijuana?_ " Luke had heard the word from Mark. "It's drugs?"

His obvious shock doubled Jackson over with laughter, which was almost dangerous, as they had just reached the top of the stairwell. "Man, you need to come hang out with Merwin sometimes. He can just point at people and tell you who sells what."

"You haven't…tried any, have you?"

"Nah. They don't sell to freshmen, anyway. But I will try it, someday. Won't you?"

"I dunno. Maybe." Luke was distracted from the question by his relief at not having to face the moral debate of whether or not to tell Lunsford that Jackson had tried drugs.

The student body at large was scheduled to arrive on the fourth and fifth of the month, staggered in batches with the upperclassmen arriving earlier. To a gregarious soul like Jackson the wait was difficult, and Luke found Jackson's constant demands of attention and action rather exhausting. To Luke, the interim was a window of peace that he would have preferred to enjoy quietly. But he indulged Jackson as best he could, practicing charms in the bleachers (bundled in several layers of outerwear) while Jackson swooped through the air on his Nimbus, assisting in the construction of elaborate snow forts (and excavating Jackson when his friend's haphazard tunnels inevitably collapsed), striking up conversations with the House-Elves that served their meals in White Hall, stumbling across the thick ice of the frozen pond.

On January fifth, a clear, still, and bitterly cold day, Luke anxiously watched Jackson scramble upward in the snow-coated branches of a massive maple tree, mentally plotting out the quickest route to the Med Bay in case Jackson should fall and break another bone. The rest of the freshmen were due to arrive that day, and waiting at the Pegasus statue at the foot of the hillside staircase was not good enough for Jackson; he had to climb the tree to keep watch for his friends and classmates. Luke stomped his feet, which were very cold even with two pairs of thick wool socks inside the boots. He was glad for the hat that covered his ears—Margaret Parker had knitted matching winter hats for Luke and Jackson, complete with absurd pom-poms on top.

Jackson grunted above him and a shower of powdery snow fell on Luke's head and shoulders. Luke ducked and brushed at the snow, squinting upward in the bright morning light. "Please don't fall and die," he said for the third time.

"Be cool, Luke," shot back Jackson—his favorite phrase since their encounter with Vera and Brenda. "I'm just… Oh, hey Dancy!"

Following the direction of Jackson's cheerful wave, Luke was startled to see Dancella Rondell standing in the snow. Her winter cloak fell straight from her narrow shoulders, a black pillar topped by her pinched, slightly jaundiced-looking features; her bright hair was hidden under the cloak's hood. Beside her, one end propped on her foot to keep it out of the snow, was a black leather case almost as tall as she was.

"Hi," said Luke, not wanting to be rude, though Dancella always made him uncomfortable. "Um, what's in the case?"

"She's got band practice," said Jackson, who was descending the tree in alarming bursts of speed, his lookout mission abandoned. "No, wait, it's too early for that. Just lessons today, Dancy, huh?"

The girl's eyes darted between the two of them, and then she gave a slow nod.

"Band? That's neat. What do you—" But Luke's question was cut off by Jackson, who had misjudged the trajectory of his final leap and knocked Luke's shoulder hard as he came down. They both tumbled into the snow and came up spluttering.

"I can carry it for you!" cried Jackson before he had even regained his feet. He took a few steps, shook himself from head to toe like a dog, and then hurried over to Dancella and gently took the case from her hands. He staggered a bit under its weight, but Dancella made no move to either help him or take the case back. "Come on, Luke," said Jackson, and tromped off through the snow. Dancella followed him silently. Luke trailed along behind them, shaking the crusted snow from his hat before pulling it back onto his head.

After a few minutes of walking—as Jackson talked blithely at Dancella in one-sided conversation—Luke realized that they were heading for the auditorium. He hesitated, until he remembered that his ban from the theater department had ended along with the fall semester; nevertheless, he felt a little nervous as he caught up to Jackson and Dancella on the stone steps that led up to the front entrance.

The band room was tucked into a back corner of the theater department's southern wing: a single room, high-ceilinged, made rectangular by the use of standing shelves to partition off a narrow corridor on one side for storage. The teal carpet was thin and worn and covered with old, obscure stains, and the teacher's desk, positioned in one corner, was a behemoth block of oak, its honey color almost completely obscured by the carved signatures of former students. The rickety metal chairs had been pushed carelessly to one side, with a thicket of rickety metal music stands close by. The room as a whole smelled of oil and old paper. Luke liked it immediately.

"Ah, Miss Rondell." A small man materialized from behind the shelves, holding a polishing cloth. He was thin, bald, and a little stooped with age, dark eyes twinkling behind thick glasses, his face so lined and spotted by age that Luke could not immediately guess his race. "Right on time."

Dancella bobbed her head in acknowledgment and sat in the lone metal chair near the desk. With careful reverence, Jackson placed the large black case on the ground beside her; she opened the metal clasps and began assembling an instrument that Luke did not recognize, all dark wood and sinuous curves of shining silver.

"Bass clarinet," said the teacher from just behind Luke's shoulder, startling him. The man gave him a kind smile. "Mister Parker I know, but I have not yet had the pleasure of your acquaintance, young man."

"Oh. I, uh, I'm Luke. Lucas Baxter."

"Well met, Mister Baxter. I am Cristian Mendes, conductor of Emerald Hill's modest student orchestra."

Luke shook the man's proffered hand. Mister Mendes's hands were the youngest part of him, almost incongruous, with a strong grip and long lean fingers untouched by arthritis. He studied Luke from close range, eyes magnified through the lenses of his glasses. "Do you play an instrument, Mister Baxter?"

"No, sir."

"I hope you will consider it in the future. There is music in you, my boy."

Luke smiled. "Really?"

"Oh yes. I can always tell."

"What about me?" asked Jackson, who was now sitting cross-legged on the floor with his back against the enormous desk.

"Not a bit," replied Mister Mendes cheerfully, making his slow, careful way to the desk. "Well, perhaps your voice. But you, Mister Parker, strike me as a man of action."

Luke and Jackson shared a look, both elated and disappointed with these classifications, as Mister Mendes dragged over a second chair and sat close to Dancella. He drew a wand that looked as agelessly old as himself and held it vertically. "Now, Miss Rondell, a quick tune and we'll begin."

Dancella hesitated. With a small piece of what looked like wood sticking half out of her mouth, she would have looked comical but for the frank suspicion blazing in her eyes as she looked at Luke. "Oh," said Luke. "Well, we'll get going, then."

"Nonsense." Mister Mendes flicked a long finger gently against his wand, which sputtered a few golden sparks. "Music is not to be hoarded. A G, please, Miss Rondell, and then the C."

Luke felt very exposed, standing in the empty space of that room while Dancella's pale eyes bored into him. The moment lasted no more than a few seconds, but he could almost physically feel her gaze as a crawling heat on his forehead. Then she dropped her eyes, and with quick, precise movements, took the piece of wood from her mouth and attached it to the mouthpiece of the bass clarinet with a little metal hoop. Luke retreated to the side of the desk, leaning against it, feeling safer with part of it between him and Dancella. The girl inhaled, sealed her lips around the mouthpiece, let out her breath, and filled the room.

Luke would have been able to identify a clarinet if pressed, and a trumpet and flute and saxophone and other basic instruments. But he had never heard of a bass clarinet, and was not prepared for the sound it emitted. Low and mellow, a very wooden sound, with a depth and richness that startled him. Mister Mendes's wand quivered, tapping very slightly to one side.

"A touch flat," the man murmured. "That's to be expected, with the cold."

Dancella made an adjustment to the joint where the S-shaped silver neck joined the body of the instrument and repeated the note.

"Good. And the C."

Dancella's fingers moved and she played a second note, lower. The sound seemed to vibrate in Luke's chest.

"Good. C-concert scale, please."

Luke did not know the musical terminology, and quickly gave up trying to puzzle it out. Instead he followed the lead of Jackson, who simply watched with a rapt expression, eyes moving between Dancella's fingers and face. Mister Mendes named scale after scale, which Dancella performed, followed by several warmup exercises. After a time, he made a languorous gesture with his wand and one of the metal music stands drifted over; he drew a piece of sheet music from the corner of the desk and placed it on the stand.

"Now," he said, "show our guests some true magic."

Dancella hardly seemed to hear him. She was focused on the sheet music, but Luke saw with surprise that much of the harshness was gone from her face. She was not pretty, but in the absence of her usual biting, angry cynicism, for the first time she looked to Luke like a child. And then she began to play.

Luke lost himself in the play of her fingers, the flashes of light reflected from the silver keys that opened and closed with soft taps and clicks behind the notes. The music flowed, passing through him and rolling through the room, exploring the corners with warm fingers, and Luke felt himself utterly hypnotized. _True magic_ , Mister Mendes had called it, and Luke felt it. There was emotion in the music, the power to move performer and spectator alike, a power that could be called and used by both wizard and Muggle, a language spoken throughout the world. When the final note was released the music seemed to linger, and Luke did not realize that he had been holding his breath until he exhaled.

"Well done," said Mister Mendes. "You rushed the eighth notes here, you see? We'll do more tempo exercises. And we must also develop your tone in the upper register. But that was lovely, Miss Rondell, quite lovely."

"It was _amazing_ ," said Jackson, climbing to his feet. "Really really great, Dancy!"

"Yeah," said Luke. "I've never heard anything like that."

Dancella said nothing, nor did she raise her eyes. But the fact that she did not glare at him seemed to Luke like a success.

"So are you gonna take band next year?" Jackson asked as they made their way toward the dormitories through the tunnels.

"Yeah," said Luke, "I think I will."

* * *

That evening White Hall was teeming with life, filled with students exhilarated to be back from Christmas break. Friends reunited at the large tables, comparing favorite gifts and family stories. At the table where Luke and Jackson sat, the Day girls wore their hair pulled back to show off their new earrings: diamonds for Theia, pearls for Psyche, and sapphires for Andromeda. Aristaeus and Paris passed around photos of their new ATVs. Luke was astonished at the extravagance of the gifts, but Jackson seemed unfazed, exclaiming over the photos and dutifully admiring the earrings. Luke listened to Aristaeus's happy stories about zooming the ATVs through the snowy fields of their farm in Georgia until he was distracted by a snatch of conversation from across the table.

"What? 'Scuse me, Ari," he said, with a conciliatory gesture to Aristaeus. "Charon, what did you say?"

The older boy leaned in over the table to be heard above the general roar of dinnertime. "We had to cancel our trip to London this summer. Too bad. I was gonna meet my pen pal."

"Why?"

Charon looked surprised. "Because of the attacks. Didn't you hear? Death Eaters making trouble in Britain. Twelve people dead, at last count, and more than thirty so hexed up they might never get back to normal."

The table fell quiet, a small pocket of silence in the bright and busy hall. Luke imagined all the families for whom Christmas had been ruined forever, and something in his chest felt tight: the same something that tightened whenever he thought about his mother, or Mark. House-Elves delivered several large pumpkin pies to their table for dessert, but the children simply looked at them, no longer feeling the spirit of the welcome-back celebration.

Then Andromeda sat up straighter, tucking errant wisps of curl behind her ears, and cleared her throat. "Well, since we can't go anywhere this summer, maybe we can do something fun at home. How about we have some friends over? Luke, Jack, would you like to come visit us this summer?"

"Hell _yes!_ " Jackson shouted, and his voice squeaked from the force of his elation. Theia gasped theatrically, Psyche blushed, and Charon, Paris, and Aristaeus burst into laughter.

Luke grinned and punched Jackson's shoulder. "That sounds great," he told Andromeda. "I'm sure Jack's parents will let us go."

"Let's each invite a friend or two," said Charon. "Mom and Dad love visitors."

Paris cut into one of the pies. Gradually Luke's chest loosened and he felt better.

"Ah-ha-ha- _hem_ ," said a booming voice, cutting through the noise with magical amplification. Principal Zander was standing at the head of the stairs that led back to the administrative offices, and he gave a cheerful wave as the students' attention turned to him. "Over here, ladies and gents. Hello, and happy new year!"

A deafening roar of reciprocation answered him and he pretended to stagger backward from the force of it. "Welcome back to Emerald Hill for the spring semester of 1975. I have a few boring announcements to make, but if you hang in there, I have one very exciting announcement to make at the end. So pay attention."

There was a ripple of excited whispers and chatting throughout the hall, wondering what the announcement could be, and Zander waited until it had died down to speak again. And it worked—Luke paid much more attention to the news of curfews and schedule alterations than he otherwise would have.

At last Zander clapped his hands, and even from across the hall, Luke could see that he was beaming. "All right! Thanks for being so patient. Now here's the exciting news. As a privileged few of you already know, Emerald Hill has, for the past one hundred seventy-two years, been in possession of something very special. Gifted to us for safekeeping by the elder sphinxes of southern Africa, we have been careful custodians of a precious item, a dormant life—the ashes of a phoenix."

Gasps, exclamations, cheers. Luke's heart sped as he remembered the gem-crusted box that Lunsford had shown him months before.

"It has been our honor to guard these ashes, but the time of our guardianship is coming to an end. This spring, Emerald Hill will be welcoming dignitaries from all over the world to greet the rebirth of one of the Earth's most beautiful and glorious creatures. Congratulations to all of you. This is a great time to be a part of America's magical community."

The applause was huge, and Luke joined in with enthusiasm. He craned his neck, looking at the professors' loft which was one level above the tier where he and his friends were sitting, and there, clapping along with the rest, was Doctor Lunsford—looking right back at Luke. He smiled his lopsided smile. Luke remembered his words: _sometimes the things we hope for have to be put aside until the right time comes for them to be given life_. Luke thought of Mark, and the strings in his chest that attached to those memories pulled tight again as the weight of his emotion pulled them. He clapped all the harder, grinning to hide the tears that stung his eyes.


	27. Chapter 27

The tunnels, though sheltered from the raw force of the cold outside, were not heated, and the ensconced torches that lined the walls offered very little relief. However, with the majority of the student body using only the tunnels to walk to and from classes, the crowding of so many moving bodies made underground travel tolerable and even pleasant. But when there is snow on the ground, children will not be deterred by any degree of cold, and elaborate forts, igloos, and sculptures dotted the campus, frequented by students made almost anonymous under thick coats, cloaks, scarves, and hats.

Another excuse to be outside that not even the adults could ignore was, of course, Quidditch. Not even the harshest weather could stop the Quidditch season from progressing, and enterprising juniors and seniors turned an impressive profit selling bottled heating charms outside the stadium on game days. The bone-jarring _thunk_ of a near-frozen Quaffle being passed made Luke wince, but the spectacle of the game was not lessened by the cold. He found that he did not feel the passion for Quidditch that Jackson clearly did, but he never regretted sitting in the open stadium to watch, not even after a Saturday of sleet ended with Doctor Close treating the boys' noses for frostbite.

Even flying lessons continued through the winter, though at a more subdued pace, with most of the class huddled close to a roaring bonfire as Mrs Finnegan coached them singly or in pairs. Luke's confidence on a broom was slowly growing, as no further cataclysmic incidents occurred to knock him to the ground. All the same, flying lessons were one class he merely endured. He lived for the classes where his talents lay: Strategy and Dueling and, of course, Transfiguration.

At first he found it very strange to sit in Transfiguration lessons; he felt as though his knowledge of Doctor Yancey's identity was broadcasted from him like a guilty beacon, and he struggled to treat both her and the class normally. He found himself studying her during class, trying to pick out mannerisms that marked her as an imposter—a magical beast in a human guise—but all he was able to see was that she perhaps did not blink as often as might be considered normal. If Yancey had not herself admitted to him that she was a kitsune, he would have begun to doubt again. She had perfected her act of appearing human.

But was it an act? Luke wondered how long a person could pretend to be something without the pretending becoming at least a little true. The more he watched her, the more it seemed to Luke that Yancey was perfectly comfortable in her human skin. He started keeping a list of things he wanted to ask her, if he ever got the chance. And as the list grew, so did his distraction, not only in Transfiguration but in his other classes as well. He felt his vow to keep Yancey's secret like a burning pressure on his arms, where her hands had gripped him, and yet found he could think of little else.

In an effort to relieve this tension, he spent most of his free time in the library. He did not check out any books, not wanting to have a record of the things he studied—and he wondered if this touch of paranoia might not be an effect of his vow, but could not be certain—and always occupied one of the private study booths with a _Do Not Disturb_ sign on the door. And what he read about was kitsunes.

There were many volumes in the library on the subject, but Luke was surprised at how vague most of them were: theory, not fact. While scholars agreed that kitsunes had lived on Earth for many thousands of years, perhaps millions, there was a divide in the scientific community as to whether they were a native species or arrivals from another planet or plane of existence. Studies on the apparent multidimensional movement of kitsunes were beyond Luke's understanding. What he really wanted were stories. He wanted to know how kitsunes lived, what their families were like, the importance of their names. But the one thing the books agreed upon was that kitsunes were very secretive, and had traditionally been suspicious of humans, tending to avoid any contact they had not themselves initiated; they reputedly lived in remote places in Siberia, Mongolia, Africa, Australia, impenetrable forests and inaccessible steppes. No human had ever visited a kitsune clan…or, thought Luke, at least none had ever returned from a visit to a kitsune clan. It was general knowledge that kitsunes visited human cultures, perhaps even on a regular basis, but Luke gradually came to realize that Doctor Yancey was, by all accounts, the first kitsune in the history of the world to openly (or semi-openly) live among humans.

He sat and thought about that for a long time, and then picked up his Bic pen (older and more traditional teachers frowned upon the use of pens and pencils in class, but they were growing in popularity) and took out his list.

 _#13_ , he wrote. _Have people ever visited your home?_ And then, _#14: Do you think anyone will ever write a book about you?_

He looked at the list, tapping the pen against his chin. Of course, he realized, people would only write a book about Doctor Yancey—Eronil the kitsune—if she were ever to tell the world what she really was, which would mean blowing her cover at Emerald Hill. He wondered what the other students would think if they knew. Would it bother them? It didn't bother Luke…but then he had to wonder _why_ it didn't bother him. From across the table he pulled toward him a book laying open to an illustration that had struck him. There were no photographs in any of the books of a kitsune in its native form, but there were many drawings and paintings (some more fanciful than others). This particular illustration was dark, done all in textured whorls of oil paint. It was mostly dark swirling shadow, through which a vague canine shape could be seen; along the line of its back ran a ridge of flame. Its eyes glowed red above the faint gleam of sharp teeth. _That's what she is_ , thought Luke, trying to force his mental image of Alice Yancey into the terrifying form in the picture. _She's not human. She just looks like one_. His imagination stirred, and he could picture the unclear figure stalking toward him,

 _(this isn't wizard magic)_

bleeding shadow

 _(this is my magic)_

and belching flame.

He shivered involuntarily and pushed the book away. "Does it bother you now?" he asked aloud, a little annoyed with himself. But the daydream faded quickly, and he remembered instead Doctor Yancey's shock and sorrow when she had realized that Luke thought she had given Lunsford the scar. _It was not me_ , she had said, and Luke believed her. A kitsune might be a powerful and frightening creature, he decided, but Eronil had promised to protect Emerald Hill and everyone in it, and he had no reason not to trust her.

 _#15_ , he wrote, _was it scary for you when you first came here?_ And then, after a long pause, he added, _#16: Who hurt him?_ He stared at this question for several minutes before scratching it out thoroughly.

The following Wednesday in Transfiguration class, Luke wrote in tiny, careful letters on a scrap of parchment: _#19: Is there anything you like better about living this way?_ Suddenly he became aware that Andromeda—sitting beside him, as always—was watching him. She was not so rude as to actually lean over and try to read what he was writing, but she was aware that he wasn't paying attention to the class. Luke moved to cover the writing with his hand, but just then something brushed against his shoulder and he looked up to see Doctor Yancey standing beside his desk. Her eyes flicked down to the parchment.

"See me after class, please, Mister Baxter," she murmured.

Luke blushed, shoving the scrap into one of the pockets in the sleeves of his school robes and ignoring Andromeda's pointed look.

"All right," said Doctor Yancey in a normal tone, moving to the front of the classroom, "that's all for today. But I have a minor announcement. During the first week of February, Principal Zander will be away at a conference with the Administration, and I'll be picking up some of his duties while he's gone. So you'll have a substitute teacher for class next week. Mister Couvreaux. Treat him well, or you'll have to answer to me when I get back."

She pointed a finger around the room in mock threat, and the students grinned. Luke did not. Andromeda hesitated, then packed her bag quickly and left the room with the rest. In minutes only Luke and Yancey remained; Luke looked down at his hands. There was a long stretch of silence as Yancey tapped a fingernail on her desk.

"Yes," she said finally.

Luke raised his eyes. Yancey was looking at him mildly: not smiling, but not angry, either. "Uh," said Luke, "what?"

"Yes," she repeated. "There are some things I like better about being human. Just don't tell my father that."

"Oh." And, amazingly, Luke felt some of the pressure that had seemed to be gathering in the pit of his stomach all semester lighten fractionally. "Well…like what?"

"Nope, you owe me an answer first. You had the number nineteen beside that question. Does that mean you have eighteen others?"

Luke ducked his head, sheepish. "Yes, ma'am."

To his surprise, Yancey laughed, a sudden and very merry sound that brightened the room. "And here I'd been hoping I'd escape from you easily."

Luke didn't know what to say to that, but he chanced a cautious smile.

"At least tell me you keep this list of questions in a safe place."

"In my History textbook, ma'am." That made Yancey laugh again, and Luke felt more at ease. "And I didn't write your name at all, and I didn't use the word…"

"Kitsune. It's okay, Luke, you can say it to me. I'm pretty sure your oath would have prevented you from writing anything too specific. But then again, I've never made a child take an oath of secrecy. What did I expect, that you would politely put it out of your mind?" She sighed, and looked out the window for a moment, where fresh snow was falling in huge silent flakes. "You are eleven years old. You got yourself into this mess, so it's fitting that you should be bound to silence. However, in my experience, it is difficult for even an unusually discreet eleven-year-old to not speak at all about something very important."

She stood, straightening the front of her robes with crisp, decisive movements. "Bring me your list, Luke. Next week, when Principal Zander is back. I make no promise that I'll answer your questions, but you need a safe way to vent your curiosity."

Intense relief flooded Luke. "Thank you, ma'am."

"But do me one favor."

"Uh, sure."

"When you're in class, please try to focus on transfiguration."

"Yes, ma'am."

Feeling ten times better than he had at the beginning of class, Luke was smiling and still stuffing his Transfiguration textbook into his bag as he entered the hallway, joining the crowd of students moving and milling in the short time between classes. Because he was looking down, he nearly ran into Andromeda, who put out her hands to stop him.

"Oh!" said Luke. "Hey. Sorry about that."

"No problem." But Andromeda was not smiling. She watched him with searching eyes. "What was that about? Are you in trouble?"

"Nah. She just told me to pay better attention in class."

"You _have_ been distracted lately."

"Well, yeah. Just…getting back into the swing of things after break." Luke started walking, trying to look busy.

Andromeda hurried after him. "You found something out, didn't you? Your mystery mission."

"Um," he said.

"You said you'd tell me."

Luke started jogging, his mind scrambling for a way out of the conversation. Andromeda hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and ran after him, darting between the other students, and finally seized his arm and dragged him to a halt, pulling him to one side of the hallway beside the bust of a long-dead professor. "Hey," she said, "calm down. I'm sorry." But she held tightly to the sleeve of his robes. "Look, I'm not trying to drag it out of you. I just thought… You were so concerned about whatever this was. If you need someone to talk to about it, you can talk to me. Okay? That's all."

She looked at him earnestly and Luke felt very guilty. He _had_ said that he would tell her, after all, with no way of knowing that he would be sworn to secrecy. His forearms tingled: a reminder, or a threat. What answer could he give her now? He opened his mouth, not at all sure of what he was about to say, when Andromeda suddenly spoke:

"Does it have anything to do with Zander putting her in charge while he's gone? Because I thought that was weird. She's just a Transfiguration teacher."

Luke sighed, trying to hide his tremendous relief. "Yeah," he said, glancing around and lowering his voice, hoping he wasn't being too theatrical. "See, she's not actually just a teacher. She works for the Admin."

Andromeda's eyes widened. "No way."

"Yeah. It's true. She's here on the Admin's orders, I think. I'm not sure why. But that's what I found out."

The tingling on his arms had escalated to a low burn, as though he were holding them too close to a hot stove, but Luke slowly began to relax as Andromeda nodded, biting her lip as she thought (a trait she shared with her sisters). "I'll ask my dad about her," she said. "I bet we can find out more."

"Oh, uh, I don't think you should. She's here for something secret, I think. I almost got in big trouble for finding out what I did."

"Well, okay. Gosh, I wonder why they sent her, though. You think everything's okay?"

Luke shrugged. "I dunno. But whatever it is, I guess we're probably better off with her here."

Andromeda smiled. "I guess you're right. Hey, want to come skating?"

"On the pond? I don't have any skates."

"You can use Ari's. Come on, it'll be fun."

"Well…okay."

Luke had never been ice skating, but he was so relieved Andromeda had dropped the subject of Doctor Yancey that he was willing to give it a try. They went back to the Kitsune dormitory to bundle up, and Andromeda stopped by Phoenix to borrow Aristaeus's skates, and then they trekked across campus in the falling snow until they reached the pond. This corner of the campus had been entirely abandoned to the winter weather, the paths completely obscured; they were only able to find their way because other students had already been to the pond that day and had forged a path through the deep drifts. Luke was surprised to see several dozen students out on the pond, gliding across the ice with varying degrees of skill. He recognized Jackson's roommate Chester and waved.

Chester came skittering over, completely unselfconscious though he almost fell on his face several times. "Hey, man," he said.

"Hey, Chester." Luke sat in the snow to switch out his boots for ice skates. "Where's Jack?"

"Quidditch training." Chester gestured toward the opposite end of campus, where the stadiums were. "Where else? Guy's definitely going to be Seeker next year. Lucky bastard."

 _Well_ , thought Luke, smiling to himself, _that's where Jack gets his new tendency to swear_. But he liked Chester, foul mouth and all. He laced up his skates as tightly as he could, under Andromeda's direction, and she and Chester helped him to his feet and onto the ice…where he promptly fell, jarring his tailbone. Andromeda was concerned, but Chester laughed heartily. "Shit, man," he said, "you're worse than me!"

"I've never done it before," said Luke. "Give me ten minutes to practice and I'll kick your ass." The taboo word came surprisingly easily to him, and earned another laugh from Chester and an eye roll from Andromeda.

Ice skating being more difficult than he had anticipated, Luke did not make good on his promise, but he had fun nevertheless. There was something exhilarating about being out in this remote section of campus as the brief afternoon descended toward sunset, with the near-vertical edge of the mountainside bowl towering over them, sweating with exertion despite the frigid air as the snow continued to fall. After a time, several of Andromeda's roommates arrived and she excused herself to skate with them. She skated—as she did most other things—with grace and ease.

Chester executed a clumsy spin, hooting with triumph when he kept his feet. "Beat that, Luke!"

"Nah," said Luke, "I prefer my bones intact."

"Shit, man, they can just button 'em right back up down in the med bay. Like they did for old Ja—" But Chester's words were cut off as one of his skates hit a patch of rough ice and he tumbled down. Luke laughed, but in the process lost his concentration and also fell.

"Owww." Chester sat up slowly, one hand pressed against his side.

"Need buttoning up?" asked Luke, rotating a sore wrist.

"Nope. Made of steel. Not a—"

But Chester's grimacing braggadocio was cut short by a piercing scream. It had always seemed to Luke that cold air carried sound exceptionally well, and this was certainly true of the cry that echoed off the wall of the campus and ricocheted off a stand of balsam fir trees at the edge of the pond; there was a shivery crystalline quality to the sound, as though it, too, were made of ice. Luke scrambled, trying to rise, and Chester—who proved to be surprisingly agile in a crisis—hauled him to his feet. "There," said Chester, and started skating toward the little knot of students gathering at the southern end of the pond, just below the wall.

The student who had screamed was a junior boy, and the source of his pain was obvious: here, at the pond's very edge, the snow-covered ice concealed the exposed half-inch of a mostly-submerged boulder. The boy's chipped skate showed that he had clipped the bare rock, and the gruesome angle of his ankle indicated a badly broken bone.

"Button him right back up," muttered Chester. He looked shocked.

"Will someone put up the goddamn sparks?" snapped a girl—the injured boy's girlfriend, Luke guessed—who was cradling the boy in her arms as he groaned.

Three different students immediately drew wands and sent red sparks high into the air where they hung and sputtered. Luke wished he had been quicker to draw; he enjoyed the _periculum_ charm, it being the first spell he had learned to do without saying the incantation aloud. (He had never forgotten, nor ceased to be impressed by, Lionel Parker's first demonstration of silent magic.)

There was a sudden rush of air and a sound like all the pages of a large dictionary snapping and flapping in a high wind, and a shadow appeared in midair and bloomed into the shape of a person. The whole process took perhaps half a second. Apparition was strictly forbidden to the students, except in the carefully-regulated classes where the skill was learned, but in emergency situations the teachers were known to use this method of instantaneous transportation. To Luke's surprise, it was Alice Yancey who appeared on the ice of the frozen pond, hastily wrapping her long red scarf around her neck but without any heavy cloak or coat.

Luke and several others greeted her and she bobbed her head in acknowledgment, moving immediately to kneel by the boy with the broken ankle. "Keep it very still, Walter," she said. "I can't remove the skate yet because the foot will swell. I'm going to put on a quick splint and get you down to Cherrystone. Got it?"

"Y-yes, ma'am," said Walter. His face was very pale.

Luke was as interested as any of the others in the application of the splint, but in the space of a second, he found himself unable to concentrate. He stuffed his gloved hands into his pockets and clenched them into fists. He shot surreptitious glances around at the other students. _Do they really not notice?_ he wondered.

It was very cold there on the pond—the sun was setting, and Luke estimated the temperature to be dropping through the teens, toward single digits—and every student's face was surrounded by an intermittent corona of billowing white, their breath visible with every exhale. Alice Yancey wore no outerwear in the freezing twilight. Her cotton blouse had button cuffs, which she had pushed back slightly while applying the splint, but there were no goosebumps on her arms, nor were her cheeks or fingers flushed. _A kitsune is a creature of fire and shadow_ , the spirit in the statue had said. Sweat prickled Luke's brow.

None of the others looked suspicious, so Luke chewed on his lip to keep himself from anxious fidgeting. In less than a minute the splint had been applied and a stretcher conjured, and Walter was on his way, hovering two feet or so above the ice as Yancey guided the stretcher with her wand.

"Doctor Yancey," said Andromeda suddenly, skating to catch up with the professor. "You saw the sparks, right?"

"Of course," replied Yancey. "I'm one of Emerald Hill's designated first responders. We're always on alert for sparks, so never hesitate to use them when you're in danger."

"Thank you, ma'am." But Luke thought Andromeda looked strangely thoughtful.

Yancey nodded. "Now, all of you get inside for dinner. It'll be dark soon. Hillary, come with us to the Med Bay."

As they trudged through the snow with their skates tied together and slung over their shoulders, Luke nudged Andromeda. "Everything okay?"

"Well, yeah. I'm fine." She gave him a sunny smile.

Luke wasn't entirely convinced.

* * *

Zander's absence passed without incident, and on Monday, February 10, Luke deliberately left his scarf in his seat after Transfiguration so that he would have an excuse to duck away from Andromeda in the hall and return to the classroom. When he got back and closed the door behind him, Doctor Yancey was standing in the door to her office, holding his scarf and smiling.

"Does she suspect anything of me?"

"I dunno," said Luke honestly. "She's hard to fool. I had to tell her that you work for the Admin. I think that worked."

"Well, if in doubt, tell her to come to me."

For a moment Luke was alarmed. "You wouldn't…obliviate her or anything, would you?"

Yancey laughed. "No, Luke, I would not. Come on, come on in."

Luke followed her into her office and took the seat on the near side of the desk. Only the toes of his sneakers touched the floor. "Do kitsunes laugh?" he asked suddenly.

Yancey stretched, rolling her shoulders, and sat in her own chair. "Is that one of the questions on your list?"

"No, ma'am. I just thought of it." He dug into his pocket and produced the little roll of parchment that contained his list, and handed it across the desk to Yancey. "I added a few more last week."

"I can see that," she said, with another little laugh. "Up to thirty-one now! Thirty-two, counting the one you just thought of. You're quite the aspiring scholar of my culture."

"Well, it's hard to find anything in books. At least, the books we have here. It's like people don't really know much about kitsunes."

"They don't." Yancey perused the list, occasionally smiling or looking surprised. "In answer to number six, yes and no."

She tilted the list toward him, and Luke read, _6: Do you know the name of the spirit in the statue?_ "What do you mean?"

"Our names don't work quite the same as yours, Luke. All the tribes know me as the-one-who-has-fallen, but that is functionally more of a title. It's how we identify one another in conversation. My _name_ , on the other hand, is the word I create to embody the meaning. My tribe gave me the title, and in my heart I made the name that means the title. You see?"

"I think so."

"As part of my punishment, I was made to reveal the name I created to mean the-one-who-has-fallen. Eronil. From the Latin _erroneous_. That's why I told it to you. I'm not allowed to refuse a request for it made by fire and stone. Though that is the first time a human has demanded it of me."

"Oh. I…I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Yancey smiled. "Yes, I know that the spirit is called the-one-who-reads, but no, I do not know the name he gave himself to mean that." She looked at the list again, and tapped the parchment with a finger. "What did you cross out here?"

Luke breathed deeply, trying to will his ears not to redden. "I, uh, decided not to ask that one."

Yancey looked at him. There was no anger in her, nothing beyond her usual mild expression, and her eyes remained dark and inscrutable. But there was something compelling in her face all the same, and he knew he couldn't hide from her. "How did you know it was important and not just a mistake?"

"Luke, yours is the neatest handwriting in your class. And you've obviously thought out each of these questions carefully. Don't be afraid. I think I can guess what this one was about. Your uncle, right? The scar?"

Luke nodded, looking down. He was reluctant to remind Yancey of how he had shouted at her.

There was a moment of silence, and then she said quietly, "You care about him, don't you?"

He looked up in surprise. Any number of glib or dismissive replies flew through his head, but in the end, as before, she somehow compelled him to say the simple truth. "Yes," he said.

Yancey nodded, tracing her fingers absently along the wood grain in her desk before letting out a long breath. "You deserve more of an explanation than you're going to get today. The truth is…complicated. I don't doubt your uncle will give you the story someday. But Luke…" She pursed her lips, solemn. "Do not ask him for it until you're sure you're ready for it. Truth in concept may be beautiful, but in reality it can be, well, brutal. That may not make much sense to you now. Just take my word for it."

"No," said Luke, "I get it."

She smiled, a little sadly. "You know, I think you do."

The clock on the wall chimed and Yancey glanced at it distractedly. "Time to go, Luke. I have a staff meeting to attend."

"Yes, ma'am. See you Wednesday, then."

He was halfway to the classroom door when she spoke again. "Hey, Luke."

He turned. "Ma'am?"

"Don't forget your list." Luke trotted back to retrieve the parchment, and Yancey smiled at him, more fully this time, a smile that lit up her face. "And to answer number thirty-two, we do laugh. Often. Not quite the same way you do, but…yes."

Luke grinned. "Thanks."

A little later, at dinner, Andromeda sat beside him. "Hey," she said quietly. "I know you said not to, but I asked my dad about Doctor Yancey."

Luke nearly choked on his shepherd's pie. "What?"

"I'm sorry. I couldn't help it! But Luke…Dad says no one named Alice Yancey works at the Admin."

"Oh. That's…yeah, that's weird."

"Are you sure she told you the truth? I mean, she's a grownup. She could lie about anything and there wouldn't be anything we could do about it."

Luke chewed his bite carefully, buying time to think of a reply. "Well, if she did lie, she probably did it for a good reason."

Andromeda frowned thoughtfully. "You trust her?"

He looked at her squarely. "Yeah," he said, "I do."

She hesitated, and then nodded. "Okay. But be careful, huh?"

Luke plucked a pea from his plate and flicked it at her. "Always."

Andromeda squealed and combed the pea out of her curls with her fingers. " _Luke!_ Gross!"

But later that night, sitting in his bed in the pool of light cast by his bedside lamp, Luke stroked Grimalkin as she sat in his lap and purred. He could not banish Andromeda's words from his mind.


	28. Chapter 28

"Who's Sadie Hawkins?"

Jackson was holding one of the multicolored fliers that Luke had seen in the hallways but hadn't bothered to read yet. Most such notices, unless hung on the specific bulletin boards in the dormitory foyers that applied to freshmen, were for the upperclassmen, and Luke tended to ignore them.

"Beats me," he told Jackson. They were sitting in White Hall in the early evening, between classes and dinner, that being one of the few comfortable places for students of different heralds to meet together during the winter. "What's it say?"

"Sadie Hawkins dance, Friday, February 14, seven pee-em," Jackson read aloud. "That's in two days."

"Oh, then it's for Valentine's Day. Do freshmen even go to things like that?"

Jackson scanned the page again. "Well, it doesn't say we _don't_."

Emerald Hill took its holidays very seriously, and Valentine's Day was no exception. From the first of February the campus had been decked out in pink and red; even the torches in the underground corridors burned pink. The school store sold large plush hearts that could be charmed to follow a particular student and recite poetry or sing (several students had been punished for abusing this option with the cruel or the profane), and as the fourteenth approached, both Red River and the owlry saw a lot of traffic, with owls being sent all over campus (and beyond) with cards and gifts.

Luke had not sent anything; in his Muggle schools he had always resented the implied obligation, and he appreciated that at Emerald Hill, though most people celebrated the day of love, there was no pressure to participate.

Jackson put down the flier and sat up straighter, looking around with a determined expression. Then he propelled himself from his seat and jogged through the tables, with a shout of "Doc Marshall!" Luke watched, amused, as his friend intercepted a teacher, a tall witch with dark hair. They spoke briefly, and Jackson said something that made Doctor Marshall laugh, after which she shooed him back toward the tables and continued on her way, over the bridge to the professors' loft.

"Who was that?" asked Luke as Jackson returned.

"My Charms teacher. She's really nice. And get this," he added, pausing for dramatic emphasis with a devilish smile. "I think she likes Uncle Heath."

Luke was confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I think she _likes_ him! They have coffee in his office sometimes, and she smiles at him a lot."

Luke considered this. The evidence was compelling. But again he thought of Lunsford's face, watching Alice Yancey dance at the quintuplets' birthday party. "Does he like her?"

"Huh? Well…she's pretty, right? And super nice and smart. I bet he does. Maybe they'll get married!"

Luke grinned. "I never knew you were so romantic, Jack."

Jackson punched Luke's arm. "I am not! I just think it'd be nice. He seems so lonely, you know?"

That sobered Luke. "Yeah, I know."

"Anyway, I told her she should ask him to the dance."

"What?" Luke was not very familiar with the protocol of school dances, but he was pretty sure it was the boy's job to ask the girl.

"Oh, yeah, Marshall said that's what Sadie Hawkins means—the girls have to ask the boys. Watch, I'll show you. _Hey Margie!_ "

Luke jumped, startled by the sudden yell, and so did a girl a few tables away, with short blond hair and a freckled nose. "God, Jack, you don't have to scream," she said.

Jackson climbed to his knees in his seat, leaning forward over the table and lowering his volume a notch or two. "Want to go to the dance with me?"

Margie rolled her eyes. "It's a _Sadie Hawkins_ ," she said with a tone intended to be scathing but difficult to take seriously coming from such a petite girl. "You can't ask the girl. And anyway, I already asked Simon."

" _What?_ " shouted Jack in mock rage. "I'm twice the man Simon is!"

All the girls at Margie's table were giggling. Margie flipped her hair and turned away, but Luke thought he saw her smiling. He stared at Jack as his grinning friend flopped back down into the seat. "Told you," Jackson said. "So I told Doc Marshall to ask Uncle Heath, and she laughed and said maybe. Think she'll do it?"

"I dunno, man. Hey, is she even a Sphinx?" Luke nodded toward Margie's table.

"Nope, Ruby Unicorn. She's in my Strategy class. Why?"

"Just wondering." Luke was secretly impressed at Jackson's confidence.

"Okay, but would you go? If someone asked you?"

"What, to the dance?"

"No, to the moon."

"Smartass." Luke had been experimenting with that word, and liked it. It was particularly applicable to Jackson most days, and Jackson seemed to relish the title. "Uh, maybe. I don't really like dancing."

"You danced at the quints' party, _and_ you liked it."

"Did not!"

"And then Theia _kissed_ you!"

For an eleven-year-old boy, those were fighting words (despite being perfectly true). But Jackson was laughing even as he deflected Luke's blows, and it was nearly impossible to be angry with Jackson while he was laughing. They were sitting quietly again before they had attracted any attention beyond a warning look from the professors' loft.

"Come on," Jackson said, elbowing Luke (who elbowed him back, harder). "If we go, maybe we can get Uncle Heath to go. I bet he'd like it. He never has any fun."

"I think he thinks chemistry is fun."

"That doesn't count."

The carillon at the top of the Bastion chimed five-o'clock, and House-Elves poured into White Hall carrying platters and pitchers and flatware. The boys piled their plates with sliced ham, baked potatoes, and green beans, and did not speak again for several minutes, occupied with the serious business of filling their stomachs. As an afterthought, Luke munched some salad, while Jackson went straight for the oatmeal cookies.

"Hello, boys!" said a cheerful voice: Theia Day, her neck wrapped in a cashmere scarf that almost matched the blue of her eyes, which she unwound and draped elegantly around her shoulders. Luke finally felt confident telling the three girls apart; they looked identical, but their personalities were very different. (Aristaeus and Paris, on the other hand, were still interchangeable to him until he heard someone address them by name.) Theia took the empty seat beside Luke and served herself from the platters. "Going to the dance on Friday?"

"Well, we were just talking about that!" said Jackson with exaggerated cheer. Luke paused with a leaf of romaine hanging from his lip. He kicked Jackson's leg under the table, but Jackson only widened his smile. "We wanted to go, but no one's asked us yet."

"Oh!" cried Theia with genuine delight. "Well, I can fix that! I…I was actually hoping that you'd be free, Luke. Would you go to the Sadie Hawkins with me?"

Luke finished chewing, but with two sets of bright, expectant eyes on him, there was only one answer to give. "Sure," he said. Then, realizing that he might have been rude, he added, "I mean, yes, Theia, that sounds fun."

"Goody!" she squealed, and Luke had to smile; he didn't know anyone else who used that word. "Andi and Psyche already have dates, but I know the perfect girl for you, Jack. Sit at this table again for breakfast tomorrow, and I'll bring her along."

"Good deal," said Jack, grabbing another cookie and looking content.

* * *

Luke was not present at breakfast for the reveal of Jackson's date, but he and Andromeda met Jackson in the hall outside their Chemistry classroom and they went in together. "Yeah, she's all right," Jackson said, thumping his cauldron onto the counter they habitually occupied. "Got kind of a big nose, but she's really funny. Oh, and Uncle Heath says he'll take us into Red River tonight to get formal robes."

"Formal robes? You mean we have to dress up?"

"It is a Valentine's dance, after all," said Andromeda. "And Theia is really going fancy, so you'd better step up or she'll be disappointed. Oh, and her dress is dark red."

"Uh, okay," said Luke, not sure what to do with that information.

"Who you going with, Andi?" asked Jackson.

A slight blush colored Andromeda's cheeks. "Jerome Lytle," she answered primly. "He's in Psyche's class."

"You mean we don't know the guy?" Jackson acted shocked. "How are we supposed to protect you?"

"I'll protect myself, thank you," she said, grinning as she swatted away Jackson's hands that picked fretfully at her sleeve.

Jackson unrolled his parchment of that week's Chemistry notes and made a show of writing _Hit List: #1, Jerome Lytle_ in large letters in the margin. Luke and Andromeda laughed.

Doctor Lunsford emerged from his office with his arms full of dried herbs, and gave them a smile. "Good morning, class."

" _Good morning_ ," chorused the students, and Luke felt strangely grateful. He _did_ care about Lunsford, and he was glad that the teacher was well-liked in the school.

They spent an uneventful class period using powdered dandelion root, sunflower oil, and the luminescent glands of the Rutledge's Pearl Beetle to make a paste that could be mixed with regular ink to create a writing solution that glowed. Luke was paired up with Beatrice Gray, another Sky Kitsune, and their ink glowed brightly enough to cast a shadow, though Lunsford pointed out that it was rather more orange than the optimal golden color. Jackson and his partner were mildly reprimanded for using their ink to write something unsavory; Lunsford incinerated their parchment with his wand but did not deduct any points from their grade, because the ink was a lovely pearlescent gold.

Before leaving, Luke and Jackson stopped by Lunsford's desk. "We'll take the shuttle to Red River around four," he told them. "I'll fill out your permission forms. Dress warmly."

"Can we have dinner in town?" asked Jackson. " _Pleeease_ , Uncle Heath?"

Lunsford smiled. "I don't see why not."

The boys separated for the rest of their Thursday classes. Luke practiced the Jelly-Legs Hex and listened to an overview of formal dueling rules in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and huddled beside the bonfire in Beginning Flying, squinting against the glare of the sun on the snow until it was his turn to glide through the crystalline air. Mrs Finnegan praised his progress, and he was feeling confident as the class came to an early close. He retreated to the Kitsune dormitory to change out of his school robes for the trip to Red River, and sat in an oversized armchair in the common room with Grimalkin, reading a chapter in the novel _Watership Down_ , which had been his Christmas gift from Doctor Lunsford. Luke was not a fast reader, and for once he was glad of it, because it gave him the chance to savor the story, which he was thoroughly enjoying.

At three-thirty he met Jackson in the tunnels, and they traveled underground to the amphitheater, which was as close as they could get to the outer stairs; from there they used the walkways. The stairs had seen ice-clearing duty recently, but only a half-hearted effort, and even Jackson took his time as they climbed. At the lip of the bowl that held the campus, bisected by the line of the path that descended toward the switchbacks and the Heart Ring far below, was a long runway of fitted stones. This runway had been tended more carefully than the stairs and was free of ice, though some snow grit had gathered at its edges. Several other students were gathered there in the shelterless cold.

Travel by Floo to and from Emerald Hill itself was restricted to the office of the principal, for security reasons, and the weather prohibited students from walking to Red River. During the winter months, the only way for the students to reach the town was to get permission from a professor to take the shuttle. And there was only one place on campus for the shuttle to land.

Their only warning was a faint ringing that pulsed rhythmically. The students looked up, the younger ones (including Jackson) pointing and exclaiming. Luke was less demonstrative, but had to admit that it was a very impressive sight: a covered sleigh, large enough to seat twenty, ornately carved from cherry and mahogany. Velvet curtains hung in its windows, and on the ground it was supported by three massive runners that, rumor had it, were made from the ribs of the Arctic Wyrm, the largest species of dragon. But for all the splendor of the sleigh, it was nothing beside the creatures that drew it through the gold and blue of the late-afternoon sky.

Six heralds represented the student body, but the totem animal of Emerald Hill was the pegasus. The school kept a menagerie just outside Red River housing a great number of species, several specimens of which were the pride of the nation and attracted international visitors, and the crowning glory of the collection were the pegasi. The menagerie had eighteen of these magnificent creatures, the largest captive herd in the world. The sleigh was charmed to lessen its weight so that only three pegasi at a time were needed to pull it, and Luke thought it a good omen that his particular favorite was in use today, a lean blood-bay stallion with an almost perfectly circular star on his forehead.

The students moved well back from the runway as the sleigh approached; each pegasus had a wingspan of nearly thirty feet. Their harnesses were hung with silver bells that chimed in rhythm with their wingbeats. As the sleigh circled around and lined up to land, the driver, Head Handler Paxton Hume, waved from the driver's seat, swaddled in several thick robes with his customary scarf of bright green trailing out behind his neck.. The pegasi landed gracefully on long legs, cantering down the runway, and the sleigh skidded along behind them, gradually slowing.

"Hi, kids!" called Hume, beckoning. "Come on, hop in! Permission slips ready, please!"

Lunsford crested the steps from the school at that moment, and Jackson grabbed his hand, tugging him along toward the sleigh. "Let's go, let's go!" he shouted.

Luke greeted the red stallion, wishing he had thought to grab a carrot from the snack tray in White Hall. "Hey, Comet," he said, letting the soft muzzle whisper across his gloved fingers. The pegasi were large, very tall, but not overly muscular, and as gentle as kittens. They were slim and graceful, with long manes and tails and silky feathering on their legs. Luke loved them.

He returned to wait with Jackson and Lunsford in line to board. Lunsford handed two permission slips to Hume, who glanced at them and gave Lunsford a cheery salute.

Inside the sleigh, the walls were lined with velvet-padded benches, and between the windows and from the ceiling hung stout leather loops for use as handholds during the notoriously turbulent ride. Jackson bounced excitedly in his seat. Luke knelt on the bench, watching out the window as the pegasi turned the sleigh to face back down the runway. "Hold on," said Lunsford.

From the driver's bench they heard Hume call out, "Hep! Off we go, my beauties!"

Luke grabbed one of the leather handholds just in time. In seconds the pegasi were cantering, and the charmed sleigh bounced on its runners, seeming as eager for the air as the beasts themselves. The passengers were jolted and jounced, and while the students hooted with laughter, Lunsford bore it with a tranquil smile. Out the window, Luke watched the ground fall away with sudden dizzying speed; his stomach lurched, but he did not feel the awful vertigo that he associated with riding a broom. He felt safer in the sleigh, sitting down, and for the first time was able to enjoy flying. He saw the Heart Ring, and the large clearing at the base of the mountain where the first-year freshmen had gathered before their sorting back in August. One of the pegasi—Luke liked to think that it was Comet—let out a ringing neigh of pure wild joy, and Luke grinned, exhilarated.

Through the air the ride was brief, only a few minutes to cover the three miles or so of hilly scrub between the mountain and Red River. Another runway near the menagerie provided a place for the shuttle to land, which was another bone-jarring process, and the group disembarked beside a tiny cabin that provided shelter for those waiting for the shuttle on this end. (Luke wondered why Emerald Hill didn't have such an amenity, but then decided that a cabin would have ruined the optical illusion for first-years making their initial ascent toward the campus.)

A short path led them from the runway to the thoroughfare that connected Red River to the menagerie. There were no buildings here, but the broad road was lined with the same ornate streetlamps that filled the town, and with dusk descending and snow on the ground it was a lovely walk. For those few minutes no one spoke—not even Jackson. The sky was clear, a glorious gradient from burning orange in the west to deepest blue in the east with the first stars appearing. Their breath curled up from their mouths and dissipated, and their boots crunched on the snow-crusted stones. Luke realized that he felt completely at home, at ease, at peace. This immediately brought the guilt that he was getting used to: guilt about not missing his family as much as he felt he should. Even Mark seemed very distant to him now. This made him melancholy, but he was surprised to find that this feeling suited him. He settled into it as they walked, letting it color his perception of the evening, concentrating of the sound of their footsteps, the tingle of the cold air in his throat, the tickle of the fibers of his scarf against his cheeks.

Too soon, Luke felt, the quiet walk ended and they entered Red River, where melancholy had no place. The streetlamps burned a cheerful yellow against the blue twilight and lanterns hung in every doorway; large window displays lit up the sidewalks with their warm, inviting glow; the narrow roads, free of cars, were bustling with foot and bicycle traffic and busy chatter. Red River was labyrinthine, sprawling across the hills with no effort to tame the geography of the area, a city of some sixty thousand residents and many more commuters. The city's growth had been capped in the 1950s, and real estate was in constant high demand; Luke knew there were petitions in progress to expand Red River, and also to establish another exclusively magical city elsewhere in the country. The Administration, Dragontooth Square, Emerald Hill, and Red River together could not come close to housing all of the witches and wizards in the United States, and so most of them were integrated into Muggle society.

The group with which Luke, Jackson, and Lunsford had arrived disbanded on their various errands. Lunsford led the boys to one of Red River's makeshift taxis—in a city without internal combustion engines (by legislation, so the streets would not have to be widened), public transportation consisted mainly of little open carts drawn by bicycles or horses. "Killough's, please," Lunsford told the driver, who nodded and mounted his bike.

The wind stung Luke's nose and he snuggled his chin down into a fold of his scarf. On the other side of the bench, Jackson hung out the side of the cart, the pompom on the top of his hat bobbing wildly, throwing himself back several times to avoid collisions with carts, pedestrians, and lampposts. Between them, Lunsford pointed out several places of interest: an apartment block where the Emerald Hill professors lived who had small children; _The Lonely Banshee_ , where they had dined back in November; the landscaping company that tended the school; his favorite bakery. They wound their way through the northwestern quarter of the city, uphill and down, until Luke knew he would have no hope of getting back to the shuttle on his own.

When they arrived, Lunsford paid for the cab in the customary manner: holding out his hand, he let the driver "scan" the invisible stamp there with his wand. They crossed the sidewalk and entered Killough's Fine Wizardwear. The moment he stepped through the door Luke's face was struck with a blast of warm, scented air, and he unwound his scarf as they walked past racks of everything from Muggle-style tuxedos to velvet robes bedecked with shoulder pads, or complicated draping, or antiquated lace, or buttons. There were top hats, bowler hats, canes, spats, sashes, belts, fancy leather shoes and knee-high boots, combs and eyeglass chains and pomade, everything lit with amber light against dark wood paneling, and the whole place had an air of elegance that made Luke feel quite out of place. Lunsford, on the other hand, was at ease, greeting the proprietor with familiarity and introducing the boys.

"What will it be, then?" asked Mr Killough, his Scottish accent softened, Luke guessed, by a long time in the States. "Suits? Robes?"

"I want a top hat," declared Jackson, picking up the nearest example and plunking it onto his head. It was too large, but his ears held it up.

The men laughed. "Maybe when you're a senior," Lunsford said, replacing the hat on its shelf. "Why don't you take a look around and see if there's anything you like?"

In the end Jackson settled on dark gray robes fitted across the chest and buttoned like a vest, with a bow tie. Luke got a light gray suit with a formal cloak, and was relieved to have an answer when Mr Killough asked him what color his date's dress would be. "Dark red," he said, and Killough found him a coordinating tie with a gold clip in the shape of a kitsune's face. "Wow," said Luke, accepting it reverentially. "I love it!"

"You'll both look very nice," said Lunsford. The boys paid for their purchases from their own accounts, and felt very adult as they loaded their wrapped parcels into another cart.

"Where are we gonna eat?" asked Jackson.

"A little café that I used to love when I was at school," said Lunsford. "Just a few blocks away."

The _Lucky Elephant Café_ had outdoor tables on the sidewalk, and a few of these seats were occupied by the brave, huddled in overcoats and thick cloaks over hot drinks. Inside it was bright and warm, the floor an elaborate mosaic of an elephant with raised trunk bedecked in green and gold; small round tables dotted the floor, each lacquered in a different color. Customers could browse the menu, posted on large chalkboards on the walls, and write their orders on notecards, which would then fold themselves into birds and airplanes and disappear through holes in the ceiling. Jackson glanced around and then his face opened dramatically into a grin of pure delight. He dodged through the crowded space and Luke lost sight of him briefly, and followed Lunsford, as the man had a better vantage point. They found Jackson already sitting at the second of four chairs at a bright teal table. The first chair was occupied by Doctor Marshall.

She smiled at Luke and Lunsford as they approached. "Hello there," she said. "Jack says you've been shopping for formalwear. Would you care to join me? I've only just sat down."

Luke looked quickly at Lunsford's face, but he was difficult to read. "Of course," Lunsford said. "If it's no bother."

"Not at all." She looked at Luke. "You must be Jack's foster brother. Luke, right?"

"Yeah. Nice to meet you." Luke shook her proffered hand. She was, as Jackson had said, very pretty, with eyes of dark blue framed by smile-lines and narrow spectacles.

Luke and Jackson left the table to read the menu, and Jackson was so excited that he bounced with every step. "I'm gonna get her to ask him! I'm gonna do it!"

Luke swatted his arm. "At least wait until we've eaten."

"What? Why?"

"What if he says no?"

Jackson picked up a notecard from a basket full of them. "He wouldn't do that. That would be mean."

"But what if he doesn't want to?"

"Why wouldn't he?" Jackson scribbled his order—Luke hoped the cooks would be able to read it—and gave a gentle blow to send the resulting airplane off of his hand. "With you and me sitting there looking at him, of course he'll say yes. And we'll all go and have lots of fun."

Luke wrote his order rather more carefully and watched the card fold itself into a sparrow. "Well, you can try. But seriously, let us eat first."

It was clearly a challenge for him, but Jackson did manage to wait. He wolfed down his food, and just before he swallowed the final bite Luke nudged him hard with his foot, shaking his head when Jackson looked at him. And so Jackson fidgeted in his chair, watching the others eat and make small talk, until he finally got a chocolate shake to distract himself.

No sooner had Jackson returned to the table when, to Luke's surprise, Doctor Marshall introduced the subject of the dance herself. "By the way, boys," she said, "do you have corsages for your dates?"

Luke didn't even know what that meant. "I guess not," he said. Jackson, sucking down his milkshake, shrugged.

"Then here's a nifty trick for you." She drew her wand, held it upright, and gave it a flourishing shake. " _Flores apparenti_ ," she said, and with a small _poof_ of sweet-smelling smoke, a clutch of roses and chrysanthemums blossomed from the tip of the wand.

"Cool!" cried Jackson, and nearly knocked over his shake in his hurry to draw his own wand.

"Wait, wait," said Marshall, laughing. "A slight flick of the wrist, see? And you have to picture the flowers you want."

Luke fished out his wand from the inner pocket of his cloak and—thinking back to Theia's Halloween costume—pictured red tulips. " _Flores apparenti_ ," he said, giving the wand an experimental jiggle, and a single tiny red bud grew at the end of his wand and rolled off, plopping onto the floor.

"Concentrate, Luke," said Marshall, reaching over to tighten his grip on the wand. But while she was distracted, Jackson managed to conjure a very large sunflower, which hit the ceiling and knocked his wand to the floor with its weight. Lunsford was smiling as he waved his own wand, and the sunflower fractured, morphing into several dozen yellow daisies which grouped themselves into a bouquet and settled on the center of their table. Several other diners, who had noticed the commotion, applauded.

Jackson disappeared for a second to retrieve his wand, and when he saw Marshall smiling at the yellow flowers, looked quickly at Luke. Luke rolled his eyes and nodded.

"Doc Marshall!" said Jackson. "Thanks for the charm. Are you coming to the dance, too?"

"I'm not an assigned chaperone."

"But could you come anyway? I bet it'll be fun!"

She laughed again. "I suppose I could, if I had a date."

"Then take Uncle Heath! He doesn't have a date either! Come on, there's supposed to be really good food. It would be good for him, too. He spends too much time down in the labs." Jackson cast an adoring glance at his uncle before returning his electric attention to Marshall. "You'll ask him, right? Please?"

"Jack," murmured Lunsford, "don't be rude."

"No, it's fine." She was still smiling, and Luke smiled too, liking her. Her mouth turned up at the corners, as though she had always just stopped laughing or was just about to laugh. "Doctor Lunsford, would you go to the dance with me?"

Jackson spun in his chair to watch Lunsford, eyes huge and pleading. Luke tried to kick him again, but Jackson would not be distracted. Only a few seconds passed between the question and the answer, but Luke felt them keenly, not sure what he wanted the answer to be.

Lunsford inclined his head graciously. "It would be my honor," he said.

" _Yes!_ " shouted Jackson, pumping a fist in the air. "Hooray! This will be great!" Then he froze, looking shocked. "Wait. Uncle Heath, do you have stuff to wear?"

"Believe it or not, I do," said Lunsford, calmly sipping his coffee.

"I, however, do not." Doctor Marshall gulped the last of her cinnamon tea and stood. "So if you'll excuse me, I'd better hurry if I want to get my shopping done before the last shuttle leaves."

Lunsford also stood, and helped her put on her coat, which Luke thought was very gallant (and he filed it away as something that would impress Theia). "We'd better be on our way, too, boys," he said when Marshall had gone. "Luke, if you leave your shirt with me, I can iron it before the dance."

On the ride home, Jackson was elated, bouncing in his seat and talking nonstop. Luke answered him just enough to keep the conversation going, but mostly he was watching Lunsford, who spent the shuttle ride looking out the window at the dark, snowy hills. _Don't ask until you're ready_ , both Yancey and Lunsford had told him, and he knew that he was not. There was a weight on Lunsford that Luke did not feel able to bear.

Back at Emerald Hill, in flannel pajamas as the wind howled around the corners of the Kitsune dormitory, Luke took out his list. _Did you love him_ , he wanted to write, but after staring at the parchment for nearly ten minutes, he put it away without adding anything.

The next evening, he was able to enjoy himself at the dance because of two important factors: Theia loved the tulips, and Doctor Yancey did not attend.


	29. Chapter 29

As February drew to an end, Emerald Hill's corner of the Rocky Mountains was beset with heavy storms. From the front windows of the Kitsune dormitory, Luke could catch only occasional glimpses of the other buildings through the swirling sleet and snow, but he saw enough to frighten him: the prevailing wind kept the front steps of Unicorn and Kitsune clear, but the others were entirely buried, as well as the inner courtyard, and only the head of the dragon statue peeked through the tremendous drift.

No one went outside for several weeks; the doors that led out were locked, restricting travel to the tunnels, which became very crowded. The dormitory bedrooms that were above ground level were given insulated curtains to keep in front of the windows, and every fireplace on campus blazed day and night. Jackson told Luke that all of the sphinxes in the giant painting in his dormitory's common room had hidden away in their caves, and was fascinated to hear that the kitsunes seemed unaffected. "Kitsunes are creatures of fire and shadow," Luke told him, feeling very smart. "I guess they carry their own heat with them."

"Wow," said Jackson, impressed. "So what are sphinxes, then?"

They spent a few hours in the library to try to find out. Luke was surprised at how familiar Jackson seemed with the place, taking them immediately to the third underground level without consulting the research assistant globes that followed them—and Luke could have sworn the gently-lit orbs seemed disappointed by the neglect.

It was pleasantly cozy this far beneath the bad weather, and, eschewing the tables, Luke and Jackson piled their collected books on a space of open floor and crawled among them on the worn carpeting, occasionally pulling one into their laps to flip through. A convoluted trail of amateur research led them to the subject of elementalism.

"What?" said Luke, peering over Jackson's shoulder at the enormous volume balanced in the other boy's lap.

"Elementalism," Jackson repeated, pronouncing it carefully. "Ari and Paris have a buddy whose family are elementalists. That's weird stuff. Invocation and energy-harnessing and crap like that. This stuff here doesn't sound so bad. Theories about how magical animals might be _creatures of fundamental powers_ ," he quoted from the paragraph beneath his finger. "Like what you said about kitsunes. How'd you know that, anyway?"

"Uh, one of the upperclassmen told me."

"Well, it's really cool."

"What does it say about sphinxes?"

"Hm." Jackson flipped to the index of the book, and in the intervening moments, Luke silently marveled at how much his friend had grown since coming to Emerald Hill. Last summer, when they had met, Jackson had been so shy, reticent around strangers, and Luke would never have pegged him as the studious type. But during their months at this extraordinary school Jackson had proven himself outgoing and candid, and Luke had been rather surprised to learn that Jackson was excelling in all of his classes.

"Here we go," said Jackson, and turned to a chapter heading marked by a full-page illustration of a sphinx: leonine body, long neck hung with a heavy fringe of black hair that framed, mane-like, a human face. The very large, almond-shaped eyes had slitted pupils, and fine gold chains hung from piercings in the drooping lobes of the ears.

Jackson browsed for a moment or two, turning pages. Luke let him read, contenting himself with the illustrations and photos. Early in the school year he had been repeatedly startled by the size of the sphinx statues in the Joining Glade and in front of Jackson's dormitory; they were much larger than any lion, more comparable in shoulder height to a horse, their paws larger than Luke's head. He had a passing wish to see the painting in the Sphinx dormitory, just to watch the magnificent creatures in motion.

"Different people think different things," Jackson said at last. "Shadow and air, stone and air, earth and shadow, and all kinds of debates about whether shadow or stone are actual elements. Man, why doesn't anyone actually _know_ anything?"

"It's the same way with kitsunes," Luke told him. "Just a bunch of theories and ideas. All questions, no answers."

"Well, we should find out someday!" Jackson closed the tome with authority, earning an irritated _shush_ from a group of juniors at a nearby table. "You and me," Jackson continued in his stage whisper, which was still loud. "We can do research together. I bet we can find out all the secrets."

As they piled the books onto a cart to be reshelved, Luke felt a little guilty. After all, his list of questions for Doctor Yancey was a personal research project, and he wished he could share his knowledge with Jackson, or anyone. But he remembered the burning on his arms when he had been confronted by Andromeda…and that had been only a warning.

That evening, Luke and Grimalkin were relaxing in the Kitsune common room, in an oversized armchair in the sunken area on the ground floor, close to the wall with the fireplace and the painting of the kitsunes. He had brought his History textbook with him to study but had gotten distracted watching the painting. They moved like smoke, almost dancing on long slim legs, multiple tails streaming out behind them. But he had found that it was difficult to focus on just one of them, or even a particular feature; they were obscure, sly, hiding behind screens of shadow or in the standing thickets of the painting, defying definition. For the first time, Luke wondered who had made the painting, and whether that person had spent time with actual kitsunes. He took the list from its hiding place—page 644 in his textbook—and added question forty-one.

"Luke, right?"

Luke jolted as though the voice had been an electric shock. He slammed the book closed on the list (and two of his fingers), turning in the chair to see a face he recognized: the fifth-year junior girl who had greeted him the first time he had entered the Den. Her mass of tightly-curled black hair was hard to forget.

"Zoë," she reminded him. "Sorry I spooked you."

"S'okay." Luke stroked Grimalkin to calm her.

Zoë sat in a bean bag, and tipped her chin toward the painting. "You watch them a lot. I mean, we all do, but you even more than most."

"Yeah." No denying that, Luke knew. He would have to balance honesty with great care. "Well, I think about them a lot. It's weird, isn't it? I mean, we call kitsunes magical _creatures_ , but they're a lot more like people than, like, cats or something."

Zoë smirked at Grimalkin, who, as though slighted, took the opportunity to climb to the top of the armchair and stare disdainfully into the middle distance. "It is weird," Zoë agreed. "Same with sphinxes and unicorns. What level of intellect divides a person from an animal?"

Luke certainly had no answer for that, so he countered with another question: "Have you ever seen one? A real one?"

"'Course not." She pushed her glasses up on her nose, a gesture he also remembered from their former meeting. "I don't know of anyone who has, either. I don't know if any kitsunes live in this hemisphere."

Luke spared himself a second of internal smugness. "Do you know who did the painting? Did the same person paint all six?"

Zoë looked surprised, blinking several times. "I don't know, actually. I've never thought about it." Then she smiled. "You ask good questions, Luke."

That statement struck him, and though he felt a faint tingle on his forearms, he calmed himself and thought over his words carefully, and the tingle was gone by the time he spoke. "Hey Zoë, if you met a kitsune and could ask it one question, what would you ask?"

Zoë pursed her lips, watching the painting for a time as she thought. "I guess…" She hesitated, plucking at the hem of her shirt, seeming suddenly younger than her fifteen years, almost shy. "I would ask to hear it sing."

"That's more of a favor than a question."

"True. But my mom—she was a Kitsune, too—she always says that kitsunes are supposed to sing beautifully. Like, leave-you-speechless beautiful. I've always wanted to hear it."

They watched the kitsunes, content in silence, and Luke tried to imagine what their song might sound like. He thought of the voice of the spirit in the statue, like a charred stick dragged through coals, and hoped, for Zoë's sake, that some kitsunes sang more prettily than others. He glanced at her, but her eyes were hidden behind the reflection of the fireplace flames on the lenses of her glasses. She looked at him, eyes burning. "If it had to be a real question, though," she said, "I would ask it if it likes us. People, I mean. Humans."

Luke nodded slowly. "Huh. That's a good one."

"What about you? What would you ask?"

He had to suppress a grin, keeping his fingers still when they wanted to twitch toward the list hidden in the book. "I think I'd ask its name."

Zoë snorted. "How very practical of you."

When he had gone up to his room to prepare for bed, Luke flopped onto his stomach on his bed and opened the book, finding the list. He popped the cap off his pen and wrote carefully: _#42: Do you like us?_

* * *

On the ninth of March, when Luke's list had grown to forty-nine items, the sun finally returned to Emerald Hill. The campus was buried in white, blinding bright under a sky that blazed with shocking clarity and shocking cold. Crews of students were recruited to help the maintenance staff dig out the dormitories and the Quidditch stadiums; the students, suffering from acute cabin fever after nearly three weeks inside, stepped up with great enthusiasm. The freshmen weren't much help, either with shovels or charms, but they enjoyed being outside all the same, running along the frozen crust of snow until it broke beneath them and sent them tumbling. Once Jackson actually disappeared into a deep drift, and Luke, David, and the quintuplets had to get him out, laughing so hard they could barely dig.

"It's _in_ my _pants!_ " Jackson shrieked when he finally reached the surface again, hopping around and wiggling as he tried to shake the snow from his clothes.

Luke wheezed with laughter, dodging a handful of snow that Paris lobbed at him, but was distracted when he saw a group of upperclassmen hurrying along looking both excited and agitated. He nudged Theia and pointed.

Theia sobered, rolling to her feet and brushing the snow from her hair. "Excuse me," she called, and one of the upperclassmen looked their way. "What's going on?"

"Someone's been outside during lockdown," the boy replied. "Barefoot!"

Jackson scooped up his hat and plopped it back onto his head. "Come on!" he bellowed, and scrambled across the frozen snow to catch up with the older students. The others hurried behind him. Luke figured they were a foot or two above one of the brick paths, not far from the Joining Glade, when they saw the upperclassmen they had followed joining a larger group of students who were leaning on their shovels and talking. Luke and the others pushed their way through, and when he saw what they were looking at, Luke stopped dead.

It was immediately apparent why these footprints had not been buried by the fierce wind. Across the snow lay a slick of ice, thirty feet long and of varying widths, and here and there the ice was depressed in the vague but unmistakable shape of bare human feet. The others were gasping and pointing and speculating about what sort of charm would enable a person to melt ice with his bare feet, but Luke did not have to wonder. He remembered Alice Yancey crouching on the frozen pond with no goosebumps on her arms, and it was very easy to picture her walking alone in the howling night, oblivious to the storm, a source of heat that melted the snow as she walked, leaving it to freeze immediately when she had passed.

"Wow," murmured Psyche, who had come through the crowd beside Luke. She knelt to touch the edge of the ice with a gloved hand. "Why would anyone go out in weather like that?"

As far as Luke was concerned, that was the only pertinent question at hand. After lunch, he went immediately to the schedule posted outside the door of his Transfiguration classroom and signed up to meet with Yancey during her office hours the following day, a Monday.

He watched her carefully during class, and thought she was acting differently. She seemed less engaged with the task of teaching, distant, preoccupied. When the class was dismissed she gave Luke a small nod, which he figured meant that she had seen his name on her schedule; he changed out of his robes in the dormitory, made excuses not to play chess with David, and went back to the third floor of White Hall's east wing.

"How long is your list now?" Yancey asked when he entered her office, closing the door behind him.

"Up to forty-nine," Luke answered, grinning, and produced it from the pocket of his jeans. She accepted it when he held it out, and he gave her a few moments to read before saying, "It was your footprints outside, wasn't it?"

"Yes," she said, without glancing up from the list. "Careless of me. I wasn't paying enough attention."

"So…if you can melt snow with your feet, how come your desk isn't on fire?"

She chuckled. "Containing her flame and shadow is the first thing a kitsune must learn if she wants to interact with humans. It's not as difficult as you might think. Now, remaining visible: that's tricky. Do I—" She tapped the list, finally looking up, with an amused little smile. "Do I like you? What do you mean by _us_?"

"You know, all of us. People."

"Oh." Yancey looked surprised. "That's a profound question, actually. I…well, yes. Overall, I do like you."

"Overall?"

"Well, think about it. Do you like all people? Everyone? And even the ones that you do like—do you like everything about them?"

"I guess not."

"Well, same here. Humans are a lot like kitsunes that way. There is good and bad in every individual. Things to like, things to despise."

Luke nodded. "That makes sense. But…you're so much like people, right? Does it bother you that people think of kitsunes as animals?"

"Not really."

"Oh. Good, I guess."

"The sphinxes take it rather hard, but most of my kind are so disdainful of humanity that they'd rather be grouped with the animals anyway."

Luke felt stung. "They don't like us?"

"They don't know you. Most of them have no contact with humans." Yancey gave him a long look that Luke found inscrutable. "But if they met you, Luke, I think they would have to admit that some people are worth liking."

Shocked and pleased, he fiddled with the buttons on his corduroy overcoat. Yancey watched him a moment longer and then returned her attention to the list. "Have you always had such an interest in kitsunes?" she asked.

"Oh, my parents are Muggles. I didn't know about any of this till last summer. Until I got my letter."

"Really? You've certainly dealt with it well. No other magic in your family?"

"My grandma was a witch. But I didn't know that till last summer, either. And she's dead now." Suddenly afraid that she would ask about his parents, Luke scrambled for a change of subject. "Uh, does anyone else in your clan spend time with humans?"

"Actually, yes. My brother is a talented shapeshifter."

"That's cool. Did he go to school here, too?"

"No. No, he did not." She frowned thoughtfully. "I said a moment ago that kitsunes, like humans, have good and bad in them, things to like and things to despise."

"Yeah." Sensing a change in her attitude, Luke's attention sharpened.

"Well…there is very little good in my brother." Yancey hesitated, glancing over the list without appearing to actually read anything, looking distracted—the way she had looked during class. When she spoke, her words were slow and careful. "Do you happen to remember my brother's name? I mentioned it, back in December."

"No," Luke admitted.

"He is the-one-who-breaks. If that doesn't sound very pleasant, well, like I said, _he_ is not very pleasant. But unlike my own derogatory title, my brother has been a breaker since birth. He was tolerated for a long time, but eventually the clan forced him out and he has been an exile ever since. He's…not quite right in the head, as they say. I am here, at Emerald Hill, because my brother has an unusual preoccupation with this place. And the only way to guard against a kitsune is with another kitsune."

She watched him, and Luke knew that she was weighing his reaction to this news. He took a deep calming breath, but the image that filled his mind, refusing to be banished, was the illustration he had found in the library book of the shadowy kitsune hunched in menace, spine aflame and teeth gleaming. Gradually he allowed himself to understand that such a creature was stalking Emerald Hill. As this knowledge settled into his mind, a slow gnawing dread crawled into the pit of his stomach. He was just a child, and Yancey's tact was sure to have downplayed the severity of the situation. _Not right in the head_ meant her brother was crazy. _Unusual preoccupation_ meant he was obsessed. He remembered what she had said in December, that the need for her to be at Emerald Hill was greater than the risk of the discovery of her identity. The back of his neck prickled. He looked up at Yancey, trying to think of something sensible to say.

"What…what would be do?" he asked finally.

"I don't know," she replied. "He is full of hate, but not as shrewd as he likes to believe. Are you afraid?"

To be asked such a question, especially so frankly, by another student would have made Luke bristle. But it was different coming from her. He heard a whisper of Andromeda's voice

 _(she could lie about anything)_

in the back of his mind, but he could not deny that despite everything, he _did_ trust Doctor Yancey—Eronil the kitsune. He wondered, briefly, whether this was because she actually was telling him the truth or because he wasn't smart enough to catch her lies, but the implications of the latter were so frightening that he pushed that thought away.

"Yes," he said. It was the truth.

"Good," she said. "There is no shame in fear, Luke. My brother is worthy of fear. Accept your fear, but do not let it rule you. I am more than a match for him."

Luke nodded, somewhat comforted. "Is that why you were out in the storm?"

"My brother frequents storms, and that weather was violent enough that I suspected his involvement. But he was not there."

"Does he know you're here?" _And would it keep him away if he did_ , he wanted to add.

"Almost certainly. I can't be sure—it's not like we keep in touch—but if he came anywhere close, he would be able to sense me. I cannot hide from him. But I don't want or need to."

"You said that he's worthy of fear."

"It's true."

"Do you fear him?"

Yancey seemed taken aback. "I'm not afraid to fight him, if that's what you mean. But I am afraid of having to hurt him, if it came to that."

Luke thought about that. "What's the difference?"

She smiled, but her eyes were sorrowful. "He is hateful, and cruel, and destructive. But…he is my brother."

That made perfect sense to Luke.

They sat quietly for a moment, and then Yancey lifted the list from the desk. " _Number forty-one_ ," she read aloud. " _Who made the paintings in the dormitories?_ That's no secret. A witch by the name of Agatha Milonas painted them, back in the mid-1700s. A rare talent, hers."

"Did she meet any kitsunes, or was she just guessing what they look like?"

"Just guessing, as far as I know. Pretty good guesses, though. I do love that painting—much more than the statues on campus. A kitsune was never meant to be frozen in stone."

Luke frowned. "What about the-one-who-reads?"

"He made a great sacrifice for the sake of humanity, and gets very little credit for it among our people. He's been living with humans for three hundred years, looking into their hearts, watching over their dreams. It has changed him…though for better or for worse, who can say?"

"What do _you_ think?"

Yancey smiled again, much more brightly this time. "He is a hero of mine."

* * *

The stars burned coldly and too bright. Luke shivered, bare feet slapping on the brick. Where were the dormitories? It was past curfew and he didn't have his cloak. The bare branches of the trees chattered above him, sharing secrets. The wind was so cold. Where were the dormitories? He turned left at a fork but the path was unfamiliar, full of strange shadows. Surely it was this way…? There was ice beneath his feet.

A gust of wind shoved him. He tried to hurry, but his legs were very cold, very heavy. They wouldn't move properly. Where were the dormitories? He had to get inside. Something was out there in the dark. The brick paths wandered under the trees and he stumbled along, searching in vain for something familiar. The stars were going out; one by one they disappeared, and the black branches of the trees blended seamlessly with the black void of the sky, and the blackness shifted and moved, an endless flank of inky fur. It was looking for him.

 _(I)_

Luke tried to run. He had to get inside. The sky turned, and the wind sniffed at his heels.

 _(I know)_

The cold air burned his throat. The shadows crawled up his legs. He fell, and the ground shattered, and he fell into the abyss that was waiting for him and

 _(I know your name)_

his legs jerked and he woke up in the dim dormitory room. Grimalkin was sitting on the shelves that separated his area from David's, and her eyes glittered; the curtain over his window was pulled slightly askew and a sliver of cold silver light was falling on his pillow. Luke sat up and drew the curtain closed, not wanting to see the moon shining on the snow of the courtyard. The fire in the room had burned low and he padded to the fireplace in his slippers to put another log on and poke the flames to life. He sat on the edge of the slightly raised hearth, folded arms resting on his knees, soaking in the warmth of the fire.

 _Fire_ , the-one-who-reads had said. _Passion, strength, warmth, zeal_. But a fire could also burn. A fire could destroy.

"Hey," whispered a voice, and Luke jumped, badly startled. Jeffrey Ryan, who had one of the beds closest to the fireplace, was sitting up. "You okay?"

Luke shrugged. "Bad dream."

Jeffrey nodded, pushing his rumpled hair out of his face. "Wanna play cards?"

"Yeah."

Jeffrey also had a cat, a calico, smaller than Grimalkin. "Move over, Gwennie," he said, picking up the cat with hands gentler than his words, and Luke sat on the foot of the bed as Jeffrey shuffled his worn pack of Bicycles. After a moment Grimalkin joined them and curled up beside Gwennie, and the only noises in the room were the crackling of the fire, the gentle papery snap of the cards, and two cats purring.


	30. Chapter 30

By the end of March, Luke's Defense Against the Dark Arts class had mastered the Jelly-Legs hex. Abernathy even allowed them a brief period of celebration in which they all cast the hex on each other and wobbled around the large room on legs that felt boneless, colliding with each other and collapsing in heaps, hooting with laughter until they were breathless. Only Dancella did not participate, standing off to one side and looking dour. Luke suspected that Abernathy approved of her reticence; he himself stood by a window during the revelry, drumming long fingers on the sill.

"All right, all right," shouted the teacher after ten minutes or so of jelly-legged hilarity. "That's enough of that. Back to business." He raised his wand and bellowed, " _Finite incantatem!_ "

A whitish light bloomed from his wand and traveled quickly outward like a ripple of water, and when it passed them, the students' legs returned to normal, causing many stiff-legged stumbles. Luke's legs straightened beneath him and jarred his knees painfully. Rubbing the left knee, he hobbled to the eastern side of the room and joined the others as they took up their usual positions for a demonstration, sitting in irregular lines. "Yowch," he commented as Andromeda showed him a scrape she had sustained on the back of one hand.

"Now," said Abernathy, pacing in front of the students. "The Disarming and Jelly-Legs hexes only work against living beings. The final spell you'll be learning this year is effective against objects. Barriers. Obstructions. The Reductor curse. Very powerful, and very dangerous if used stupidly." He glared at them. "State the number-one rule of my class."

" _Don't be stupid_ ," chorused the students.

"Hallelujah," he agreed with a dignified pursing of the lips. "For your final exam you'll be paired off to stage a duel. Each of you will demonstrate _Expelliarmus_ , _Locomotor Wibbly_ , and, of course, _Reducto!_ " As he spoke the word, Abernathy whipped around and snapped his wand back and forth (too quickly for Luke to be certain of the motion). Blue light shot forth, and one of the gym mats, which had been propped up against the elevated platform in the center of the room, exploded spectacularly into a cloud of foam fragments and torn scraps of leather.

Luke shook his head to clear the foam pieces from his hair and applauded with the rest of the class (which frivolity Abernathy cut short with a stern look). " _Reparo_ ," said Abernathy with a jerk of his wand, and the various bits of the mat flew through the air and knit themselves back together; the result was a little saggier and more scuffed than the original, but impressive nonetheless.

"I'll assign your partners today, so you can be practicing together. Remember that practice of hexes outside of class must be supervised by a teacher or a qualified senior student. Violation of that rule will earn you detention, a docking of your grade, and a report to your parents of stupid behavior. Repeat violations…will not be tolerated." He scowled at them to drive the point home, then drew from his pocket a red ballpoint pen and a class registry on a rather battered roll of parchment. Marking off each name as he went, he called out the partners.

Luke's hopes of being paired with Andromeda or David were quickly dashed, as he realized that each set of partners consisted of one Sky Kitsune and one Royal Dragon. He leaned to one side and murmured to Andromeda, "Too bad for whoever gets stuck dueling Dancy for a grade."

Andromeda smirked, but gave him a warning glance as Abernathy paused, looking in their direction. Talking out of turn was not something he tolerated in his classroom.

"Lucas Baxter," said Abernathy, "and…" He scoured the list and then looked directly at Luke.

 _Oh no_ , Luke thought.

"And Dancella Rondell." Abernathy twitched an eyebrow, and Luke knew that the pairing was deliberate. He immediately decided that he would ask Lunsford to supervise their practice sessions, and if Jackson also attended, so much the better. With both of them present, maybe he would survive.

* * *

He woke up shivering in the darkest corner of the night. At the borders of the window curtain there was a faint glow, and he tried again, as he did every night, to stretch the curtain to block out that light. Somehow the starlight on the snow made him feel faintly nauseated recently. It reminded him of his dreams.

Since learning of Eronil's brother, his sleep had been very poor. He had taken to going to bed as early as he could without arousing suspicion from his roommates, because he usually was able to sleep deeply only at the beginning of the night; around two or three in the morning he would wake, frightened and disoriented, from another nightmare. A mad kitsune haunted the edges of his every dream, searching for him, running him down. In the light of day it was easy to dismiss his fears as only natural, to accept them as Doctor Yancey had advised, but in the nighttime, when the room, the dormitory, the entire campus was blanketed in darkness and silence, it seemed horribly plausible that he personally was being hunted.

He sat on the hearth again, as he did most nights, with Grimalkin close by. She seemed to sense his need for comfort and curled up in his lap, exuding the deep contentment that only a purring cat can give. His roommates lay perfectly still, in the very deepest recesses of sleep, but their peace was no consolation for Luke. He stared into the fire, trying to think of mundane things—the report he and Andromeda were working on for History class, the semifinal Quidditch matches that would be held in a few weeks' time, what instrument he might want to play next term and where he might be able to buy it—but when a charred hunk of wood fell into the coals he jumped and nearly cried out. Grimalkin stood and stretched, looking offended, and batted at the sparks that had flown free of the fire to slowly die on the stone.

Luke's heart pounded in his throat. The nights of broken sleep made him tired and irritable during the day, and his nerves were badly frayed. Frightened and frustrated, he pushed his feet more firmly into his slippers and crossed the room, quietly opening the door to the hallway and leaving it cracked open behind him so that his roommates would not be disturbed by the latch. The bathroom was chilly and silent, and somewhere water was dripping, a steady _plink-plink-plink_ that reminded Luke far too much of approaching footsteps. He shivered, and was halfway across the hall on his way back to the room when a faint sound reached him.

He stopped, balanced halfway through a step, fingers tingling with the adrenaline that surged through his body. For a long moment he heard nothing but the wind sighing around the corner of the building, and he wondered if he had imagined it, or whether his nightmares were starting to creep into his waking life…or, worse, whether his nightmares were becoming so realistic that he would no longer be able to tell them apart from his waking life. But then he heard it again—the distant mutter of a voice, or voices. Carefully, on tiptoe, he moved to the railing of the staircase and peered over. On the ground floor there was a warm orange glow on the green runner: the door to the Den was open.

As Luke descended the voices could be heard more clearly: several people were in the Den, speaking together in low voices. He leaned around the jamb, blinking against the brightness of the roaring fireplace. In the sunken area in front of the fire, just below the painting, was a group of about twenty people. Even across the room he recognized Zoë's shock of black curls, and the long golden braid of Mandy Kines, President of the Kitsune dormitory.

He stepped tentatively beyond the door, not sure whether he would be welcomed. Then: "Not at all," said a voice that he recognized. Surprised, he walked more quickly, and Doctor Yancey noticed him and smiled as she continued, "I think the truth is much simpler than that."

Following her gaze, the others murmured greetings to Luke. Even Virginia Morris was there, the house-mother for the dormitory, who lived in a small suite at the back of the building. She was nearing retirement age, a calm and very dignified woman who was presently wearing a rather incongruous bathrobe of fluffy pink over a long nightgown. "Hello, Luke," she said (she prided herself on knowing the name of every student in her dormitory).

"Hi," said Luke. "What's going on?"

"Welcome to the insomnia club," said Zoë, patting the empty space beside her on the couch. She wore flannel pajamas with green and white stripes. "Doctor Yancey has broken curfew tonight to grace us with her presence. We've decided not to turn her in."

Luke sat, looking around at the group. "You guys have trouble sleeping, too?"

There were nods all around. "Bad dreams," said a boy—a fourth-year sophomore, Luke thought. They were watching him, and he nodded, admitting to his own nightmares. For a moment they were all quiet together, kindred spirits sharing commiseration without words. Luke was shocked by the power of that moment. He felt secure, supported, buoyed on a sense of connection and empathy. Intense relief washed through him, chasing away the final lingering residue of his dreams.

"I just came to watch the painting," said Yancey, whose long hair fell loose over her shoulders. "I always enjoyed it when I was a student. Turns out I wasn't the only one with that idea."

"We were just talking about what kitsunes might really be like," Zoë told Luke.

"Oh." Luke wanted to say something about elementalism, but was afraid of saying too much, especially with Yancey there. "What does everyone think?"

"Well, they're clearly not entirely physical," said Mandy Kines. "And Landon said he'd heard once that kitsunes were spirits who'd died by fire and had been given a second life."

"My grandma told me that," said a boy who must have been Landon. "But she has dementia, so who knows."

"I did a research project on kitsunes for my Zoology class," said another boy, a senior. "But the more I found out, the more opposed I became to including kitsunes in a Zoology class at all. I don't think they're animals, in the usual sense."

"Yeah, I've wondered about that!" said Luke, thrilled to be included. He was the only first-year in the group, but not only did the others show no impatience in catching him up on what had been discussed, they also listened attentively when he did speak. "I mean, they can take human form, right?" His forearms tingled faintly, and he avoided looking at Yancey.

"As can some unicorns," Zoë pointed out. "And sphinxes can't change form, but they speak and write and have complex societies."

"This is starting to sound like a civil rights discussion," said Doctor Morris. She had a warm, well-modulated voice; Luke had heard that she used to be a singer. "But even creatures who can appear human are not human. How then do we treat them?"

"Not like animals, at least," said the senior boy. "They're not… _beasts_. There's a photo of a kitsune in human form shaking hands with the Wizard Premier of Russia."

"I saw that photo," said Luke, but regretted it when the others regarded him with heightened interest. Since there was no way to take it back, he forged ahead carefully: "In a book. _Animal Cryptology_ , right?"

"Yeah." The senior gave him a funny smile. "You've gone digging after kitsunes?"

"Luke's very interested in our herald," said Zoë. "He's a pretty sharp kid. He came up with a fun game—if you met a kitsune and could ask it one question, what would you ask?"

Luke pretended to be picking at a fingernail, glad that his reddened cheeks probably wouldn't be noticeable in the firelight. He dared not look at Doctor Yancey, though he thought he could feel her looking at him.

"What was your answer?" Yancey asked. Her voice sounded normal, but Luke still did not peek.

"I said I'd ask if it likes people," Zoë said.

"That's a good one," said another girl. "I think I'd ask if kitsunes have scientists."

"Or other professions," added someone else.

"Do they live in houses?" said Mandy.

"How do they learn human languages?"

"How many are there in the world?"

"How long do they live?"

They went on trading questions, happy enough to share their curiosity even though there were no answers to be had. Luke sat quietly, secretly surprised at how many of the questions from his own list were eventually echoed among the group. He looked up casually, rubbing an eyebrow, and saw that the kitsunes in the painting were sitting quite still, their variously-colored eyes the only still points on their flickering bodies as they watched the humans below them. Then, almost without meaning to, he glanced at Doctor Yancey. She was looking at him, and her eyes caught his. They were dark, but he could too easily imagine them burning green like several pairs in the painting.

 _Sorry_ , he mouthed, moving his lips as little as possible and feeling miserable.

But to his surprise, her stony expression slowly softened and she gave a little shrug and a smile to reassure him. Luke looked away, still feeling guilty and not wanting anyone to notice their interaction. "What did you say you'd ask, Luke?" said Zoë, turning toward him. "Its name?"

"Yeah."

"Why?" asked Mandy.

"I dunno, I just thought it might be interesting. Like, to see what sort of names they use for themselves." He dared a quick look at Yancey, but her face was mild, and there was no heat on his arms. "In the book it said that the kitsune who visited Russia was called, uh, the-one-who-smiles. I wondered if they all have names like that."

"Huh," said the senior boy, nodding thoughtfully. "Good thinking. So what do you think—if a creature has its own name and can speak our languages, should we treat it like an animal?"

They were all looking at him. Luke thought for a moment, sorting through the jumble of words and ideas in his head until he found something articulate—and safe—to say. "Well, no. But…that doesn't mean we should treat them like humans, either. Just because they can _look_ like us doesn't mean they'd want to _be_ us. You know?"

Doctor Morris patted her hands together in soft applause. "Bravo, Luke. Well said."

The others murmured agreement. And Yancey was smiling.

* * *

The Insomnia Club continued to meet every night, as far as Luke knew, though there were occasional nights when he actually slept and did not attend. Their numbers grew slowly, and before long Luke was no longer the only freshman there. The upperclassmen in the club, true Kitsunes, were as patient and inclusive with the other freshmen as they had been with Luke, but he felt no jealousy; he had made an impression on these older students and they talked to him during the day in a friendly manner of mutual respect.

Doctor Yancey did not return to the Kitsune dormitory, and Luke did not try to meet with her during her office hours. Despite her apparent forgiveness, he still regretted skirting so close to the secret he kept, and had decided to keep his distance for a time. She continued to act distracted in her classes, and after a time Luke realized that Yancey wasn't the only teacher to do so. Abernathy in particular was irritable—well, more so than usual—snapping at the students and losing patience quickly as they began practicing _Reducto_ in class. He noticed Doctor Plemmons spending long moments staring out the window while the students were practicing their charms. Even Doctor Danderben, who was usually so absorbed with his own demonstration of the task at hand that it often took two or three students shouting together to get his attention for a question, had taken to flitting about from table to table to micromanage each student's work, never staying long enough to say anything useful.

One afternoon Luke and Andromeda were in the library working on their research project for History class, but Luke could hardly stay awake; after his head nodded far enough for him to bump his nose on the textbook in front of him, Andromeda put down her quill. "You're so tired these days, Luke," she said.

"Yeah." Luke rubbed his face briskly and sighed. "I've had trouble sleeping."

"Well, you're not alone. Charon said there's a bunch of kids in the Phoenix dorm who sit up in the common room all hours of the night."

Luke stared. "What?"

"What?"

"Lots of Kitsunes can't sleep, either. There's a group down in the Den every night."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I go down there, too, most nights."

Andromeda's dark brows drew together slowly. "That's…funny."

"Andi, have you noticed the teachers acting funny, too?"

"You mean like how Danderben spends the whole class jogging?"

They both smiled, but it faded quickly. "Yeah, like that. And Mrs Finnegan gets cranky if we go too high."

"I think she's just being careful."

"But _she_ hasn't gotten on a broom lately, has she?"

"Well…no." Andromeda gathered her notes and patted them into a pile. "What are you thinking?"

"I dunno. Everyone's acting a little weird lately, that's all."

"Pretty big _that's all_. Come on, get your stuff. It's time for dinner."

They were quiet as they made their way up to the library's entrance, and from there through the western wing to the main hub of White Hall. Dinner had already begun and they did not have time to search through the tables to find their friends, so they took the first available seats they found. But to Luke's surprise, they were not sitting with total strangers. Among the students there—all upperclassmen—were two familiar faces.

"Heya, freshie!"

"Oh," said Luke, "hi, Vera. Hi, Brenda."

Brenda gave him a rather distracted head-jerk of acknowledgment before returning to scouring the pages of a very old-looking book beside her plate on the table.

Vera rolled her eyes at her friend and then smiled at Andromeda. "You've gotta be one of the Day kids, but damned—er, darned if I can tell which."

"Andromeda." She shook Vera's hand with great aplomb. "Lovely to meet you."

"So proper. I love it. I'd better watch my manners around you." Vera winked, and Andromeda grinned.

They were halfway through their dinner when Principal Zander, out on the professors' loft, stood and clapped his hands for attention. The sharp sound carried surprisingly well over the continuous babble of talk, and gradually the students quieted as more and more noticed the principal and shushed their neighbors. Zander raised his arms, turning in a slow circle until White Hall was as quiet as a place so full of people can ever be.

"Just one announcement," he said, after a tap of his wand to his throat amplified his voice. "And one I'm very sorry to have to make. You'll all remember that the ashes of our phoenix were supposed to be reborn this spring." Mutters, exclamations, shouted questions. "Yes, yes, I said _supposed to_. The sphinxes have changed their minds, for reasons known only to them, and have let us know that this spring would be an extraordinarily bad time for a phoenix to be born at Emerald Hill."

" _No!_ " cried Brenda, looking stricken, so loudly that Luke and Andromeda jumped.

"Believe me," continued Zander, "you are far from the only ones disappointed by this news. Witches and wizards all over the world are very unhappy about it. But try to remember that we have a great responsibility to this magnificent creature. If the sphinxes say that we should wait…well, for the safety of the phoenix, we must wait. We cannot initiate its rebirth if there is any doubt of this being the right time. When we receive further news, we will let you know. You have my word."

He sat and normal noise returned to the hall, but Brenda reacted strongly; she slammed a hand down on the table and stood, roughly shoving her books and papers back into her bag. Vera touched her arm, but Brenda brushed her away and stormed off, shoulders hunched.

"Is she okay?" asked Andromeda after a moment.

"She'll be fine, little missy," said Vera, returning to her food with a sigh. "This is bad news for her work, that's all. She was counting on that phoenix for her research."

"I'm telling you," said another student at the table, a senior that Luke didn't know, "there's something odd about the school this semester."

"What makes you think it's the school that's the problem?" countered another.

"Why else would they delay the hatching? The ashes are here. Therefore, if it's not safe for them to hatch…" He trailed off.

"Then it's not safe here?" said Vera, finishing the thought. "That's dumb, Ed. Emerald Hill's gotta be the safest place in the country."

"Not safer than the Admin," said another girl.

Vera put down her fork, looking annoyed. "Zander worked for the goddamn National Security div up at the Admin. You think he'd keep us here if it wasn't safe?"

"Maybe he would," said Andromeda (and Luke thought her brave to speak up). "Maybe this would be the safest place to be, if there _was_ some threat. Batten down the hatches."

They were quiet for a moment as that thought sunk in. "We should ask him," said a boy.

"Yeah, and he'd tell us the truth?"

"I think he would," said Luke.

"And what do you know?" said Ed, glaring. "You're just a stupid kid."

"Hey!" cried Vera. "Don't be such a jackass!"

"It's okay," said Luke, picking up his bag. "See you later."

Andromeda also abandoned her plate, hurrying after him. "Ignore that guy," she said, patting Luke's shoulder. "I think Zander'd tell us the truth, too."

Luke nodded, still feeling hurt. They exited the hall through the front doors and descended the slushy steps. They headed toward the dormitories. Normally Luke would never take the above-ground paths after dark—it reminded him of his nightmares—but with Andromeda there, and other students and professors also out and about, it wasn't so bad. He pulled his scarf out of his bag and slapped it hurriedly around his neck.

"He was right about one thing, though," he said. "That Ed, I mean. The school does feel…different."

"Do you think—" Andromeda glanced around and then spoke more quietly. "Do you think it has something to do with whatever Doctor Yancey's here for?"

Suddenly Luke wished very much that they had taken the tunnels. The wind sighed in the branches above them and he kept his eyes on the bricks, frightened of what he might see if he looked at the sky. "I hope not," he said sincerely.

"Luke? What's wrong?"

He shook his head.

"You still act funny every time I mention her. …You know more than you've told me, don't you?"

Beneath his cloak and robes and shirt, Luke's arms stung and burned. He shook his head again, hurrying and almost bumping into a small group of students on their way to dinner.

Andromeda tugged gently on his arm, guiding him around the others, and held onto him as they walked. "Did she make you promise?" she whispered. "There are some pretty strong secret-keeping spells. Is that it?"

Luke looked at her. His lips were pressed together, and no force of his will could open them. His palms sweated from the heat on his arms.

"Ahh," she sighed, and smiled. "I get it. It's okay. I won't ask any more." She squeezed his arm. "I'm sorry. I must have been such a pain, asking and asking when you're not allowed to say."

Luke relaxed by degrees, and after another minute or so, he was able to move his lips. "Thanks," he said. "And I'm sorry, too."

"Don't even worry about it. But…can I ask one more question? If you can't answer, that's okay. And I promise it's the very last."

"Uh, okay." Luke braced himself, wondering if his face could give anything away even if he couldn't speak.

" _Is_ Emerald Hill in danger?"

This surprised him, and he didn't answer right away. Andromeda let him think, and their boots _thunk_ ed and _swish_ ed through the half-melted patches of snow on the path. Finally, as they entered the dormitory courtyard with its cheerful lamps, Luke said one word: "Maybe."

Andromeda squared her shoulders, looking astonishingly grim. "Guess we'd better take that dueling practice seriously, then."

The thought of raising his wand against a kitsune, pitting his meager skills against a specter of flame and shadow, made Luke want to either laugh or vomit. Instead, he nodded, and followed Andromeda inside.


	31. Chapter 31

_BOOM_.

Luke's hand jerked, spilling the seed packet he was holding. He shoved the packet into Andromeda's hands and scrambled to collect the seeds before any could fall between the vines that made up the floor and sprout, which they would certainly do, being a fast-rooting plant that Doctor Danderben had developed himself and claimed would grow jellybeans.

"Steady hands!" the professor squeaked from his perch on the largest mushroom. "Work _with_ nature, not against it!"

Luke sighed, eyes bulging slightly as he rolled the seeds from his palm back into the packet that Andromeda held out. Another crash of thunder rolled over them, rattling some of the looser panes of the greenhouse walls, and rain poured steadily over the glass; the roof leaked in several places, and the greenhouse was very muggy. It had been raining for six days straight, and though Luke had been well and truly sick of snow and ice and slush, he missed the colder weather now. Everything was damp, from the floors to everyone's shoes and pants to the very air around them. The only heartening thing about the April storms was the washing away of the snow to reveal the first growths of new grass. Students were advised to stay on the paths as much as possible, both to reduce the endless tracking of mud into the buildings and to give the grass a chance to grow.

Another rash of bad weather did nothing to improve the strange tension hanging over Emerald Hill. Students eager to hit the baseball field could only stare morosely out the windows. House-Elves were constantly underfoot, mopping the floors. The chilly air and humidity caused a plague of head colds, and the classrooms rang with the sound of coughs and sniffles. The professors were short-tempered and the students even worse, and it seemed to Luke that every time he turned around there was another crowd gathering around a fight, which often began as a mere scuffle but would escalate quickly to a fistfight without the swift intervention of an adult. For the moment, the severe sanctions against the use of a wand in a fight were being respected, but Luke had the uncomfortable feeling that it was only a matter of time until things would start to get out of hand.

Doctor Yancey continued to be distracted, but if he was honest, she was acting the same as any of his other professors: distracted, yes, and out of sorts, but not concerned or frightened. And yet he could not shake the nagging idea that something was wrong, something that justified concern. The thunderstorms unnerved him—the phrase _my brother frequents storms_ was on endless repeat in the back of his mind—and it was much worse at night. The Insomnia Club gained many new members that week, as the thunder disturbed many more who were normally deep sleepers, and Luke took great solace in those informal meetings. They were too many now to hold a discussion altogether, but it was even more pleasant to be among a large group during those nights, to turn their backs to the flashes of lightning and enjoy the comforts of the warm fire and good company.

When Botany ended, Luke and Andromeda waited in the long line to exit the greenhouse, made even longer by the awkward maneuvering of each student to open an umbrella in the doorway. When they finally reached the door, Luke struggled with the very large umbrella he had bought at the school store as the wind buffeted it, and he and Andromeda shared its shelter, creeping shoulder-to-shoulder across the meadow to reach White Hall. Once inside, Luke shook off his umbrella (and apologized to the House-Elves who were working diligently to clear the puddles), and Andromeda shook off her dripping curls, piling her hair on top of her head and sticking a quill through the mass to hold it in place.

"Don't you just love the spring?" she said with a grin.

"No," said Luke. "Not at all." But he returned the smile. He was thankful for friends like Andromeda and Jackson, who did not seem unduly affected by the nasty weather. On the contrary, Jackson seemed to be enjoying himself, wearing oversized red rain boots everywhere he went (though his pants were always wet to the knee anyway, the boots being no match for the exuberance of his puddle-splashing).

Luke and Andromeda skirted the center hub of White Hall, heading to the back of the western wing and the staircase that led to the mountainside classrooms for their History of Magic class. Their research project was progressing slowly but well, and Luke felt confident that they would finish in plenty of time for the due date at the end of May.

On their way up the stairs, Luke saw Randall Stevens, a sophomore Kitsune who was also frequent attendee of the Insomnia Club. "Hey, Randy," he said.

"Hi, Luke. Hey, too bad about Yancey, huh?"

Luke stopped. "What about her?"

"Is something wrong?" asked Andromeda.

"She leaves tonight. Some family crisis. She told us in class yesterday afternoon. Guess she'll tell you about it today, too."

Randall left with a hurried goodbye, having to go all the way to the Bastion for his next class, but Luke and Andromeda lingered on the stairs a moment more, sharing a look of concern. Luke was the one to break it, shrugging and moving on, but inside his heart was pounding.

He normally found Doctor Finnegan's energetic take on History class engaging, but today it was torture. All he could think about was Yancey leaving, and hoping that it wasn't true, and knowing that Randall would not have lied, and wondering if he could convince Yancey to stay, and building his arguments for the attempt. Doctor Finnegan had to ask Luke twice to stop tapping his quill on the edge of his desk, and eventually Andromeda simply took it out of his hands to prevent him from getting in trouble.

When History finally ended, Andromeda took Luke's bag. "Go," she said. "See you in Charms."

Halfway down the first flight of stairs, Luke regretted not thanking Andromeda. She had been a good friend, supporting him in the keeping of his secret even though she was not able to share it. Had their positions been reversed, Luke did not know if he would have been able to stand it.

White Hall was very busy; it was the lunch hour, and it took Luke a few minutes to wind his way through the crowded tables, dodging students with books and House-Elves with serving platters. As he passed into the eastern wing the crowd slowed to a mere trickle, and by the time he reached the third floor there were only a scattering of students in the hallway. He started jogging, and grabbed the jamb of the door to his Transfiguration classroom, slinging himself into the room as he cried, "You're leaving? _Now?_ "

He stopped short, embarrassed to see that Doctor Yancey was not alone. She and another woman, Mrs Finnegan the flying instructor, were sitting in two of the student desks pulled off to one side of the classroom, and both looked up in surprise as Luke burst into the room.

Yancey took another sip from her coffee mug and rose, calm and unhurried. "Please excuse us, Michelle," she said.

"Of course." Mrs Finnegan smiled at Luke as she passed him, but he could muster nothing in return.

"Close the door, Luke," said Yancey, clearing the mugs away to a sink in the corner with a wave of her wand. "And there's no need to shout."

Abashed, Luke nudged the door shut with his foot and helped Yancey move the student desks back into line with the other rows. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't know you…" He trailed off.

"Had friends?" Yancey smiled. "It's all right. I have to get ready to leave, anyway."

"You can't go."

She looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Can't I?"

"No." Luke struggled to find the words that might convince her. "Look, you said I have good intuition. Like gut feelings. Right?"

"I did. And you do."

"Well, _all_ of my guts are telling me you can't leave. Or, you know, you shouldn't. Not now. Things are so weird. Don't you feel it? Something's wrong. You should stay."

Yancey watched him for a long moment, motionless. It struck Luke powerfully; suddenly she had never seemed so alien to him, so _other_. No human could ever hold so still. She did not even seem to be breathing. Then her shoulders relaxed and the moment was over, as the guise of her humanity tightened around her once more. She sat in one of the desks and motioned for Luke to do the same. He pulled one leg into the seat and turned to face her as they sat.

"Don't leave," he said.

"I have to."

"You _can't_."

"I can't _not_." She spoke gently but firmly. "Luke, try to understand. I am not like you. My people are not like your people. I am talented in my way, yes, and powerful, but I am not high-ranking in my clan. I am in disgrace. I am on probation."

"What's that?" Luke asked, trying to distract himself from the growing certainty that he would not win this debate.

"Me being here—this is like a trial, a test to see if I can be trusted. I broke the rules once. I must not break them again. I have been summoned by my clan. Not invited, you see. Summoned. There is a judgment that must be made, and they require my input."

"You mean…you're leaving us for jury duty?"

She gave a quiet snort of laughter. "Yes, I suppose it's sort of like jury duty. They would not call me from my post unless it were for something very important. But whatever it is, I have to go. And I promise you, I will go and come back as quickly as I can. I'm not leaving, Luke. I'm just…stepping out for a moment."

Luke looked down at his hands. Fear and dread roiled uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. "How long will it take?"

"A few days to get there, a few days to get back. Ten days, maybe two weeks."

"Two _weeks?_ "

"Well, I am quick, Luke, but I am no phoenix. And I don't know how long my business with the clan will take."

"And you don't think anything will happen while you're gone?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Promise."

"Luke." From the corner of his eye Luke saw Yancey's arm twitch, as though she might have reached out but stopped herself. "You know I can't do that. The future is not mine to promise. I know the storms have you upset, but I've been vigilant. My brother is nowhere near this place. I don't think he's even on the continent. It's very unlikely that he could both learn of my departure and travel here before I'm back."

"But what if he does? You said the only way to defend against a kitsune is with another kitsune. It's not _likely_ that he'll come before you're back, but what if he _does?_ "

"Enough." She straightened her back, looking at him sternly. "Remember what I said about fear, Luke. You are not alone. Emerald Hill's faculty are well-prepared and well-trained. Just be smart—keep the curfew, don't cause trouble, stay close to your friends."

Luke wanted to ask how the staff was supposed to be prepared when most of them did not know what they were preparing for, but he did not have the heart to offer any further resistance. "Okay," he whispered, reflecting—not for the first time—that to feel helpless in the face of adult logic and rules was one of the worst feelings in the world.

Yancey took a breath as though she were about to say something more, but then heaved a sigh and stood. "See you this afternoon," she said.

Luke dragged his way out of the classroom and back down the hall. He had no appetite for lunch and instead went straight to his Charms classroom two floors down. Doctor Plemmons was there already, shuffling rather absentmindedly through stacks of parchment on her desk. She looked up with surprise when he entered. "Hello, Luke. You're early."

"Hi, Doctor Plemmons. I'm not really hungry today."

"Same here." She rested her chin in her hand and smiled. "It must be the weather that's got us down." As if to underscore her words, another peal of thunder rocked the campus.

"I guess so." He took his usual seat.

"Are you all right, Luke? You look awfully tired."

Luke thought that Plemmons looked tired, too, but he wasn't about to say so. "I haven't really been sleeping well."

"You know, neither have I. Hang in there, Luke. I'm sure things will start looking up soon."

Luke was not convinced. He had not felt so depressed since his ill-fated visit to Mark…and thinking about _that_ didn't help. When the other students began to arrive from lunch, Andromeda sat next to him and handed him his bag, but waited until the classroom was almost full to say anything, so that her words would be covered by the noise of the others.

"Well?" she said quietly.

"She has to go. And I…I wish she wouldn't."

"Is it dangerous?"

"She says no. But I don't know. Everything just feels…"

"I know." Andromeda patted his arm. "You still trust her?"

He sighed. "Yeah."

"Then you've gotta trust that she knows what she's doing."

That night, Luke didn't sleep at all. The Insomnia Club was the largest it had ever been, but he didn't talk to anyone, sitting in a far corner huddled in an armchair with a blanket. Only one person was missing, but to him the campus had never felt so empty.


	32. Chapter 32

The bad weather broke for several days, as the Quidditch semifinals approached. Luke allowed Jackson to drag him to the games that Saturday, the twenty-sixth of April, and despite his reluctance, he found to his relief that Quidditch was a fine distraction from his worries and exhaustion. In the afternoon the J.V. Sphinx team played the Gryphons, and Jackson cheered with all of his might for the Sphinx team, with whom he had become fast friends during his training. The Varsity Sphinx team had even invited Jackson to sit with them during the match, and Luke felt very much the odd one out, though they were all very welcoming. "Jack offered to let me use his Nimbus for the championship," Driscoll Peters, the Varsity Seeker, told Luke after the game. "I'd never, of course. That broom should see its first Quidditch action when Jack plays next year. Your brother's an all right guy."

It was the first time that anyone had referred to the two of them as brothers, without any qualifier. They didn't look anything alike, and Luke wasn't convinced that Driscoll really thought they were biological brothers, but he accepted the title as a compliment. "Yeah," he said. "He sure is."

The first Varsity semifinal game was that evening, the first evening game of the year. It was cold, but not with the ferocity of winter. This was a gentler sort of cold, and the air was perfumed with the scents of spring: damp earth, fresh growth, a hint of the flowers that were still dreaming deep in their buds. The Kitsune team, their uniforms smoke-gray with flaming orange gloves and cloaks, battled the Unicorns, whose uniforms were simple and fitted and all-white, for a place in the championship game. Loyal to his friend, Jackson helped Luke cheer for the Kitsunes, but the Unicorn Seeker ended the game after only half an hour by capturing the Snitch in a dramatic swoop that had her silhouetted against one of the bright floodlights lighting the field.

"That's okay, buddy," said Jackson as they shuffled toward the stadium exit with the rest of the crowd. "You'll get 'em next year."

Luke didn't care whether or not the Kitsune Quidditch teams excelled. At the moment, the only thing he cared about was seeing Emerald Hill through until Doctor Yancey returned. Carrying her secret as he did—and, along with it, the knowledge of the potential threat of her brother—he felt as though he himself were responsible for the school's safety. Knowing that this was absurd did nothing to alleviate his burden.

The second round of Quidditch semifinals were held on May 3. The championship rounds, to be held two weeks later, would be between the J.V. Sphinx and Phoenix teams, and the Varsity Unicorn and Sphinx teams. "We're in _both_ finals!" screeched Jackson at the end of the match that put the Varsity Sphinxes on top. It had been an unusually violent one, with more fouls than Luke had ever seen in a single game; one of the Sphinx Chasers had been injured badly enough to withdraw. But though the stadium was wild with noise, Luke could barely muster a little applause. To him the enthusiasm was too manic, the cheering too close to screaming, the jostling of the crowd only a step away from a brawl. All the way from the stadium to the dormitories the Sphinxes and their fans rejoiced, and Luke was tense, expecting any moment that violence would erupt. It was a tremendous relief to reach the dormitories without incident.

 _Eight days_ , he told himself that night, crossing off the date on his calendar. _She's been gone eight days._ Yancey had estimated her absence to last two weeks at the most, and so assuming the worst (as, in this situation, he was inclined to do) meant that he had to survive another six days. Then he could start feeling relatively safe again.

With the arrival of May, Emerald Hill began gearing up for the end of the school year. A photographer spent a week on campus to take individual and class pictures for the yearbook. The outdoor classrooms began to see more use as the weather grew kinder, making certain indoor rooms available for the qualifying exams that the upperclassmen had to take; there were standard exams to allow students to finish their education in those areas that no longer interested them or were not relevant to their chosen field of study, and much more grueling tests of skill given to those in advanced courses, to prepare them for graduate school, doctorates, and careers. The freshmen didn't have to worry about any of that, but they fretted over their own final exams nonetheless.

And the exam that made Luke fret the most was the duel for Strategy and Dueling. He felt confident in his own abilities—he was proficient at the Disarming and Jelly-Legs hexes, and by now he could cast a decent Reductor curse when he concentrated. But when he was up against Dancella, he found concentration very difficult. He was reasonably certain that Lunsford wouldn't allow her to actually hurt him, but the way her eyes seemed to smolder made him shiver, as she stared at him across the ten paces separating them.

"She's a tough customer," Lunsford commented one afternoon when their practice session had ended and Dancella had stormed off. "Never get on her bad side, Lucas."

It was easier when Jackson was there. His own Strategy professor had also paired off the class for duels, and whenever they were able, the two pairs practiced together with Lunsford supervising. Jackson's partner, a Ruby Unicorn, was a little wisp of a girl called Willa. Jackson made the sessions as lighthearted as possible, cracking jokes and complimenting everyone's form (including his own), but when he actually settled into a mock duel, he surprised Luke by being very quick and agile, with a particular talent for Disarming. When the boys squared off against each other just for fun, Jackson was able to half-evade Luke's Jelly-Legs hex and, as he was falling, cast a Disarming hex that left Luke's hand sizzling.

"Ha!" Jackson crowed as he knelt on his one steady leg. "Gotta keep your eyes open, Luke!"

Luke walked over to retrieve his wand, giving Jackson a playful push that made his jellied leg collapse.

Dancella never laughed, or offered pointers, or acknowledged compliments; in fact, she never spoke at all during their sessions. She stalked in a slow circle in the clearing they used, just south of the Bastion, eyes fastened on Luke, face as set as stone, wand dangling precariously from almost-limp fingers. But Luke knew by now not to be fooled: those fingers could clamp down like a vise in an instant, whipping her wand in the spare, precise motion characteristic of her, and Luke would be disarmed or jelly-legged before he could begin to react.

On the afternoon of May 6, Luke found himself in a boneless heap on the grass yet again. " _Reparo_ ," said Lunsford, and the wooden barrier behind which Luke had tried to dodge (similar to those that would be available during their Strategy finals) rebuilt itself from the splinters into which Dancella had rendered it. "You almost made it that time," he said to Luke, trying to be encouraging as he also cast the counter-hex to restore Luke's legs.

"No he didn't," said Jackson, chewing on a piece of long grass where he lounged in the sun beside Willa. "Not even close."

"Shut up, Jack." Luke brushed the dirt from his jeans. He was feeling annoyed. It was now the tenth day since Doctor Yancey's departure, and despite the warmer weather, the tension on campus had not improved, nor had his sleep. He took up a dueling stance again, and, almost lazily, Dancella did the same.

" _Expelliarmus!_ " he cried, without any of his usual hesitation or feinting.

Dancella evaded the hex, spinning to one side. " _Expelliarmus_ ," she returned, and Luke's wand went flying. She scooped her toe under it, sending it in his direction.

"Hey, don't kick it!" Scowling, he inspected his wand for damage.

"Take a breath, Lucas," said Lunsford. "Try again."

Luke tried, but when he focused on Dancella again, he thought he saw a glint of amusement in her eyes. " _Expell_ —" he began, dodging to the right, but Dancella rapped out " _Locomotor wibbly_ ," her wand never straying from him, and again Luke collapsed. He rolled onto his side, and this time he was certain—one corner of Dancella's mouth twitched in the beginning of a smirk.

All of Luke's frustration boiled up within him. Weeks of bad sleep, the terrible growing unease that permeated the campus, stress about upcoming exams, worry about Yancey and whether or not her brother might be close… Lunsford prepared to unhex him, and Dancella lowered her wand, but Luke didn't wait for either of them. His lip curled slightly and she saw it, but this time, for once, he was quicker. " _Reducto!_ " he cried, aiming at the barrier just beside her; it exploded and she flinched, shielding her face. Luke saw his chance and took it. Still lying on the ground, he snapped his wand through the proper motion with a yell of " _Locomotor wibbly!_ "

Dancella grunted as she fell. When she sat up, her face was pale with rage.

"Lucas," said Lunsford sternly, "that was very bad sportsmanship."

Jackson was on his feet at once. "Dancy, don't—"

" _Expelliarmus_ ," hissed Dancy, and Luke was blasted several feet across the grass, his wand ripped from his hand.

" _Expelliarmus_ ," said Lunsford with force. Dancy's wand soared away from her, and he caught it deftly. " _Finite wibbly_. Stop it, both of you."

But Dancy did not even appear to hear him. She rolled to her feet and paced toward Luke, reaching him just as he stood, and gave him a mighty shove that sent him tumbling again. He jumped up and stomped at her, not knowing just what he would do, but overwhelmed by the anger that flooded him. He felt hot all over, smoking, burning…she raised her fist, stepping forward to meet him…and, as always, she was faster.

 _THOK_.

Jackson reeled, stumbling into Luke, and both of them fell. He had jumped between them, arms outstretched, and Dancella's punch had hit him squarely in the face. As the red haze slowly faded from Luke's vision he realized that his hands were clamped hard around Jackson's arms, digging into his flesh through his shirt. He relaxed slowly, feeling shaky and a little dizzy.

Dancella backed away, and for the first time Luke saw an expression on her face that was not angry or sour. He would not have believed it if he hadn't seen it for himself, but she looked almost frightened, staring at Jackson. She bumped into Lunsford, who said her name gently and touched her shoulder.

Dancella jerked away from him, a little yelp of surprise and fear escaping her. " _Don't you touch me_ ," she said hoarsely.

They all paused, variations on the theme of shock and confusion on their faces. Only Lunsford looked unfazed. Gently, he held out Dancella's wand, and she snatched it from him and fled.

Jackson climbed off of Luke's lap, sniffing thickly; blood ran from his nose, and his cheek was reddened. Lunsford knelt beside him with a handkerchief, which he accepted and pinched over his nose. "Lean forward," Lunsford told him.

Shyly, Willa helped Luke stand. "Feeling better?" she asked.

"No." In fact, Luke felt much worse, with guilt added to his worries.

"It's okay. You just lost your temper. She wasn't giving you a chance."

Luke nodded, but his stomach was churning. He hadn't just been angry—he had wanted to hurt Dancella. He was glad he hadn't been holding his wand. He didn't know any spells intended to cause physical harm, but he had to admit, to his shame, that he would have tried. "Uncle Heath?" he said.

Lunsford looked up at him. "Are you all right?"

"I guess so. …Are you gonna tell Abernathy about this?"

Lunsford smiled, but it struck Luke suddenly that the man looked terribly tired. "I think we'll let it slide, just this one time. But Luke, when it comes to Dancella, I think you have to shoulder the responsibility of staying calm. It won't be easy, but…"

"Yeah. I know. Did she bust your nose, Jack?"

"Baybe," said Jackson. "Damb, she's strog."

"Thanks for trying to stop us. I…I don't know what I was doing."

"Id's ogay. Thad was a good Redugdor curse, Luge."

"Let's get you to Cherrystone," said Lunsford, helping Jackson to his feet. "Lucas, Willa, that's all for today. Go get some rest before dinner."

Luke walked slowly, hands shoved into his pockets. Willa trailed along beside him. "I didn't know Doctor Lunsford was your uncle, too," she said at length.

"I guess he isn't. Not really. I just live with Jack's family."

"Oh. That's cool." She leaned her head as they walked, trying to catch his eye. "Don't feel bad. Really. Everyone's been a little…on edge lately."

Luke sighed. All he wanted at the moment was to be left alone, but she was trying hard to make him feel better. "Thanks. I'll see you later, Willa."

He went straight to the Kitsune dormitory and straight up to his room. Grimalkin was nowhere to be seen, so he collapsed onto his bed and rolled up in the quilt, fully dressed but not caring. Thinking back over the brief fight, he was frightened by how quickly he had lost control. _How am I going to be able to keep practicing with her?_ he wondered. He didn't even think he would be able to look her in the eye again. He buried his face in the pillow.

 _Doctor Yancey, please come back soon._

* * *

He woke up with a jolt, disoriented and afraid. All around him, his roommates were also sitting up, awakened by a clanging so loud the very air seemed to vibrate. " _What is it?_ " asked David, his hair sticking up on one side.

Luke shrugged and looked at his watch—it was two-thirteen in the morning, but something felt wrong. As he gradually convinced himself that this was reality and not another nightmare, he realized what was different: the lighting. It was warm enough now that the fire was no longer lit at night, but the room was not entirely dark. Luke could not immediately find the cause of the eerie, indirect glow.

Hezekiah Smith, whose bed was across from Luke's, opened the door into the hallway and looked out. Luke could see the other first-year boys leaving their rooms. " _Fire alarm_ ," Hezekiah shouted, waving the others toward the door. " _Come on, we gotta go_."

Luke swiveled on his bed and pulled aside the curtain, and then the source of the orange light was obvious. Luke could see the side of the Phoenix dormitory, a corner of the courtyard, and a portion of the hillside, and everything was alight with the distinctive glare of fire. Bits of ash and burning grass floated down through the air. "Oh darn," he muttered, his voice lost beneath the jangle of the alarm.

He had to see more. Seized with sudden decisiveness, he leaped to his feet and ran around his roommates and into the hallway, but instead of heading for the stairs he pushed through another group of freshmen to reach their room, which had windows on the front of the dormitory. He sprinted across the room and skidded to a stop by the window, and when he looked out, he froze, with real horror tightening his throat.

Beyond the roofs of the Sphinx and Gryphon dormitories, above the campus, the entire south-facing side of Emerald Hill's mountain was aflame. The raging holocaust sent fuming tendrils high into the night sky. _Fire and shadow_ , thought Luke. And then: _oh SHIT._


	33. Chapter 33

Luke sat by the window, his knees having buckled beneath him, transfixed by the terrible sight of the fire. Fear and despair had crashed down upon him so suddenly and so completely that he felt utterly unable to move. _Tharn_ , he thought, feeling lightheaded and dreamy. _I've gone tharn. Just a rabbit watching the weasel approach._ There was nothing to be done. Yancey had been wrong. The breaker was coming, and she was gone, and there was no way to…

His chest hitched as he sucked in a sharp breath. _The only way to guard against a kitsune... But there's no time! No_ … _Yes, I have to try!_ Seized by sudden conviction, he scrambled to his feet and ran.

The students were a river boiling furiously toward the tunnels, and Luke battled against the flow until he bumped into an armchair. He climbed onto it and stood, scanning the crowd with desperate speed. Where was Doctor Morris? Familiar faces poured past, but none of them would be able to help. And then—

"Zoë! _Zoë!_ " he shouted, bouncing on the cushion and waving his arms. Zoë Fratelli's glasses flashed as she turned, and it took her a few seconds to locate Luke in the panicked bustle. Luke beckoned her frantically. She glanced at the door, then shoved her way through the current of students until she stood beside the armchair.

"Luke? Get down! Get your ass moving, kid, this is an evacuation."

Luke flopped to his knees and seized her arm with both hands. "No, wait! I need your help. I know what's happening, and I know how to stop it."

Zoë bumped her glasses as she rubbed one eye with the sleeve of her pajamas, pulled down over her hand. "It's just the fire alarm, Luke. Come on, we're going down to the tunnels. They'll take us down to the lake, I think, if it's a big—"

"Did you see it? Did you see the fire?"

"Well, no. My room's on the second underground level."

"Come on. Come _on!_ "

Still clutching Zoë's arm, Luke jumped down from the chair and dragged her through the crowd. There was a bottleneck at the tunnel entrance and the river was sluggish, making it easier for them to shove their way through the Den and into the anteroom. They made their way to one of the large windows that flanked the main doors, which was surrounded by a knot of students who were not moving toward the tunnel at all. They stood staring through the glass, unmoving, their pale faces lit with a feverish glow.

"Move!" Luke yelled, pulling Zoë with him as he shouldered the others aside. At the window, he pointed.

Zoë's face collapsed into the same disbelieving fear that he saw in the other students around them. Though the view was largely blocked by trees and buildings, it was obvious that everything above White Hall was ablaze. Ash drifted down like dirty snow, along with some brush and leaves still smoldering that had set smaller fires in the dormitory courtyard.

"Listen to me. Listen!" Luke had to actually move Zoë's chin with his hand to break her gaze from the hypnotic nightmare outside. " _I know what's happening_. I need to get to the Heart Ring."

Those words seemed to snap Zoë back into the waking world. "The Heart Ring?"

"Yes. Right now."

Mandy Kines could be heard behind them, wading through the students, encouraging them to hurry. "Zoë," Luke said, " _right now_."

Zoë looked at him for a moment, frightened, searching, and something in his face must have convinced her. "Right," she said, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Let's go."

She reached up to the latch on the window, and as she fumbled with it—it had not been opened all winter and was resistant—Luke snatched two cloaks down from random hooks. Zoë snorted with frustration, and with the flick of a wrist her wand was in her hand. She jabbed it at the window latch and said firmly, " _Alohomora._ " With an audible _click_ the hook flipped open. She took one of the cloaks from Luke, and as it became obvious what they were about to do, there were protests and questions and even grabbing hands from the students near them. Zoë pushed them away and said, "Get down in the tunnels." Then she pushed open one side of the tall window, just enough for her and Luke to slip through, and pushed it closed again behind them. "Keep up," she said simply, and then they were down the steps and sprinting across the courtyard.

In moments Luke's slippers and his pajamas up to the knee were soaked from splashing through puddles. The water was cold, but he ignored it, glad he had thought to grab the cloaks at the last minute. But even at a distance he could feel the heat of the blazing mountain on his back as he and Zoë dashed along the brick walkway. The moon was shrouded by the column of smoke, but the fire was enough to light their way, giving the night a sick, unreal red glow.

As in the courtyard, there were smaller fires in the campus that had been kindled by debris from the enormous blaze on the mountain. As Luke and Zoë ran, they passed beneath several balsams lining the walkway that were smoldering, flames licking outward over their heads. Suddenly there was a loud crack and a rushing sound, and a large bough fell directly in their path. Zoë gave a little shriek and they skidded to a halt, panting.

"We'll never make it like this," she said. "It's too far. We'll get caught. What's in the Heart Ring, anyway?"

 _Get caught_. Luke flung the borrowed cloak aside in his hurry to draw his wand, and with a flourish and an upward strike, red sparks flew into the air, hovering above the blazing balsams.

"What are you _doing?_ " Zoë cried.

"You're right," said Luke, "we'll never make it like this. We need help."

There was a shout from above them, and a figure on a broom swept down from the sky to face them on the walkway. It was Doctor Plemmons, and Luke felt panic gnawing at him as he saw that she looked just as frightened as any of the students.

"What are you doing out here?" Plemmons cried. "Get to the tunnels, right now!"

"You can't stop it, can you?" Luke shouted, hurrying forward. His hands were shaking. "You can't stop the fire."

Plemmons huffed impatiently. "There is something very dangerous going on. Now—"

"It's her brother! It's Doctor Yancey's brother! We need to get to the Heart Ring, we need to get the kitsune to call her back so she can stop him!"

For a moment Plemmons just stared at him, and Luke was terrified that his gamble would fail, that Plemmons was not one of the professors who knew of Yancey's identity. If she was not, then his words would seem like panicked gibberish. But then she said, "How do you know?"

"There's no _time_ ," he said, and gestured to the broom. "The Heart Ring, Doctor Plemmons, please! I'm a Kitsune, I can talk to him, we need him to call her back!"

The woman's face hardened with decision. "Yes. All right. Come on—you, too, Miss Fratelli, you can't stay here by yourself. Quickly!"

Zoë looked deeply confused, but hurried forward to climb onto the broom behind Luke and Plemmons. Luke clutched the professor's sweater as they rose above the trees, glad they were flying away from the hellish blaze on the mountain. In moments the rest of the campus had passed beneath them and they crested the southern rim of the bowl. Their feet—all in slippers—nearly skimmed the tall grass as Plemmons guided the broom with expert speed down the slope. His fear of flying forgotten, Luke let go and jumped to the ground before the broom had even stopped, running into the circle of stones and whirling to face the kitsune.

"Wake up!" he yelled. "We need your help!"

The shadows stirred, the whispers rose around him, and the kitsune statue blinked. _(We do not sleep, Lucas Baxter.)_

"You have to call Doctor Yancey. Her brother's here, the breaker is here!"

 _(I know. I feel his approach. He comes to kill, little one. You should be gone from here.)_

"Call her! She can stop him!" Luke saw Zoë and Plemmons hovering at the outer edge of the ring, waiting. He realized that he had never seen more than one person at a time within the circle.

 _(Yes, I believe she could. But I cannot summon her at this distance. I do not know her name.)_

"Wait…I do! I know it, she told me!"

The kitsune looked at him strangely, and then bowed his head. _(Then give it to me, child, and may she forgive us both.)_

It's Eronil, it's the-one-who-has-fallen."

 _(No, not the name of her disgrace. All the people know this name. Only the name of her heart could call to her across this world.)_

"I think I know that, too! I mean, I think she told me what it means. It's the one who…something about a light. But…she never told me the name, the name she gave herself. I don't know it." Despair clutched at him, making him feel nauseated.

 _(There is another who would.)_

Luke shook his head, confused. "I don't… Uncle Heath?"

 _(No. Send for your principal, Lucas, with all haste.)_

Luke spun around at once and jogged toward the figures waiting at the edge of the circle. "Doctor Plemmons, we need Principal Zander. He knows her name."

"Right." In seconds she was gone, speeding back up the slope on her broom until she had disappeared over the crest of the hill. High above them, the line of Emerald Hill's bowl was stark, black beneath the blazing torch of the mountain's peak beyond. It sent up a pillar of fume and smoke that blotted out the stars, but at this distance all was eerily silent, the flames dancing in macabre slow-motion. Luke shivered, wishing he had thought to grab the cloak again before their flight.

"Luke," said Zoë, "what is going on?"

"I can't explain it right now. I'm still not allowed to tell anyone who doesn't already know." He tapped his chest. "She bound me to it. But…I guess it's not very hard to guess, now."

"Yeah. I guess not." They shared a weak smile. "How _do_ you know about all this, anyway?"

He sighed. "It's kind of a long story."

"Well, I've got first dibs on hearing it."

"First we've gotta make it through the night."

That sobered them both. Then Luke saw two black dots appear against the glow of the wildfire, and he and Zoë watched the two adults approach on their brooms. Zander wore a plush bathrobe over silk pajamas, and the soles of his slippers smoked lightly as he touched down beside Luke, speaking before his feet hit the ground: "Can he call her?"

"Yeah, but he needs her name. Her first name, the, uh, the name of her heart. You know it, right?"

"Yes." But Zander's bold strides ceased at the edge of the circle. "I can't speak to the kitsune."

"Oh yeah. Then you'll have to tell me."

The man looked down at Luke, his cheeks smeared with ash, wearing an expression that Luke did not understand. Then he said a single word, very clearly: "Ashelwe."

Luke ran into the circle and faced the kitsune, who waited expectantly, ghostly whiskers twitching. "Her name is Ashelwe."

 _(Yes. The name fits, as a key in a lock.)_ The kitsune statue raised its head, muzzle pointing straight up. The long stone throat flexed, and a sound went out from it. It was no more than a sigh at the edge of Luke's hearing, but he could feel the force of it, like an arrow slung at the stars. _(It is done,)_ said the kitsune, settling back onto the plinth. _(She will hear, and she will come, though with what speed I cannot say. If she is still among her clan, she might convince them to speed her journey. We will hope that it is so. It is almost certainly her only chance of arriving in time.)_

A thought occurred to Luke suddenly. "What about you? Can you help us?"

 _(What we can do, we certainly shall. You have done well, child, but you should leave at once. The-one-who-breaks is very likely to—)_

The spirit's gentle whispering speech stopped abruptly and its back arched, stone fur crackling as it bristled. Luke stumbled, suddenly dizzy; there was a metallic taste in the back of his throat, and he became aware of a low resonance, like a colossal bow drawn across the taut strings of the night sky, that vibrated the very bones in his chest. His eyes hummed in their sockets.

Then there were hands on his shoulders, drawing him back to his feet, and he focused on Zander's face. Zander looked sick, his face waxy under a sheen of sweat. Plemmons was there, too, one hand pressed to her forehead.

"Meribell…and Luke, and Zoë," said the principal, and his voice seemed to fizzle through the air toward them. "Draw your wands. Luke, did it work? Is she coming?"

Luke shook his left arm until the wand fell free from the sleeve of his pajamas. He nearly dropped it, disoriented, and stood within the protective circle of Zander's arm around his shoulders. "It worked," he said around a tongue that felt swollen. "She's coming, but we don't know how long it'll take."

"What's happening?" Zoë asked. A trickle of blood ran from one of her nostrils.

"Something very bad, I'm afraid," said Zander. "Wands up. Be ready."

 _Ready?_ thought Luke wildly, his mind filled by the frightening illustration of a kitsune that he had seen in the library book. _Ready to fight a crazy fire-spirit? I'm only a kid! I'm eleven years old! I can't be ready for this!_

But Zoë wiped away the blood on her lip, and stood alert. Plemmons was scanning the sky, grim, ready. Zander kept one hand on Luke's shoulder, his jaw set. There was no time to not be ready. And instead of merely shielding him, Zander had called upon Luke to take up arms in defense of the school. Luke thought of Jackson, of Andromeda, of Lunsford. He planted his feet, raised his wand, and waited, heart pounding with almost painful force.

The kitsune spirit spoke quietly, three words that set a chill in Luke's stomach. _(He is here.)_

The stars shivered, and the subsonic vibration that filled the sky rose in frequency, becoming audible, becoming like the moan of a god-sized whale, huge and alien and unspeakably lonely. Hot tears leaked from the corners of Luke's eyes and his stomach heaved and he was sure that he would throw up, pass out, tear off his skin…but then the sound stopped.

"Well, hello there," said a voice.

A man stood within the circle of statues, perhaps twenty paces from where Luke, Zoë, Zander, and Plemmons stood huddled together. He was taller than Yancey, but the shape of his face was identical to hers, as was the fine black hair that swept across his brow. His dark eyes crinkled as he smiled.

Zander did not attack at once, as Luke thought he might, but neither did he lower his wand. "Hello, Breaker."

"Gerry!" cried the man in a bright, jovial tone. "Good to see you, buddy! What a reception. Nothing like a reunion with old…friends." He grinned, but his teeth seemed too large for his face.

"You'll find no welcome here." Zander's voice was hard. "Leave, at once."

The breaker tutted, shaking his head with an air of gentle sorrow. "Where's the love, buddy? What has my sister been saying about me? Oh, that girl. She does try, and it's cute. ...Put down those sticks."

Luke cried out in pain, jerking back and dropping his wand, which glowed and smoked like a coal taken from the hottest part of a fire. The others reacted similarly, and the four of them stood in dumbfounded silence, watching as their wands crumbled into harmless ash on the stone. Luke felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. His wand, which already had felt like an old friend, almost a part of him, was gone.

"I've missed you, Ger. And good old Heath, too. Boy oh boy, we'll have some catching up to do! But first, one minor order of business, which I see you've anticipated. Step aside, please. I have a rather moldy statue to destroy." He began walking their way—toward the kitsune statue behind them.

Luke kept a fierce grip on Zander's arm. His chest felt tight. There was nothing more they could do. They stood defenseless before a kitsune. _Keep him talking_ , he thought. _Nothing to lose. Give her more time. Just be calm_. But his voice squeaked with fear when he choked out the words: "What's your name?"

The man stopped, and his eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Luke," whispered Zander urgently.

Luke ignored him. "Your true name, by fire and stone."

The-one-who-breaks regarded him with profound distaste, and for the first time his composure wavered; something hard and bright and blue glinted in his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he clenched and relaxed his long-fingered hands. " _Asante_ ," he spat. "And may you choke if you ever dare to speak it. My sister must be as mad as me, to give away our secrets to someone like you. A fucking _infant_."

Zander pulled Luke back, gripping his shoulders tightly enough to hurt. Luke realized that Zander was afraid, and it was this that brought the return of the full force of his terror, pangs like explosions rocketing through his system. "Leave. Now," said Zander, with surprising force.

"Shut up, Gerry."

Asante moved his hand and Zander gave a muffled cry, putting a hand to his face; looking up, Luke saw a weal marring the man's cheek, as though he had been touched with a branding iron. Anger boiled up in him, overtaking his fear for a brief moment. "We already called her!" His shout was shrill, ringing in his own ears. "She's coming, and she'll stop you!"

Asante licked his lips, almost snarling. "I do despise the stench of honesty. In that case, I suppose I'll have to incinerate you immediately. Too bad. I was looking forward to spending some time with you all. Particularly Heath. My sweet sister is so naïve, you see, she needs to be taught a lesson now and then…"

As he spoke, Asante's body began to shift, his skin splintering into tectonic plates beneath which was the hectic glare of a lava flow. Inky shadow dripped from his eyes and pooled around his feet, sending tendrils into the air that shivered and smoked, searching, reaching for the humans.

"Gerald," said Doctor Plemmons in a small, frightened voice.

Zander backed away from the glowing, shadowy apparition, herding the others behind him, but his only answer to Plemmons was to look up at the sky and say quietly, "Alice, please."

 _(Now,)_ said the kitsune spirit, and the Heart Ring came alive.

Luke did not actually _see_ the other statues move. They danced and shuddered at the edges of his vision, rising up, rearing back, striking out, and their voices were echoes down a distant canyon. But Asante jerked as though slapped, and gave out a hissing roar that turned into the mindless scalding blast of a steam vent. His figure, now unclear, bent and twisted in an obvious struggle.

 _(Come to me,)_ said the kitsune, and the little group of humans scattered. Zoë and Luke turned toward the kitsune statue in the same moment that Plemmons bolted toward the unicorn, and Zander buttonhooked around the seething, barely-contained volcano that was Asante to run to the dragon statue. Zoë made a saddle with her hands and Luke stepped into it, allowing her to hoist him up onto the pedestal, and then he turned and grabbed her hand, pulling her up with him. They knelt together beneath the protective mass of the kitsune. Luke could feel the pulsing charge of the aura that inhabited the stone. It trickled across his skin and buffeted against the edges of his mind, the steady beating of an ancient shadowy heart.

 _(He is strong,)_ said the spirit, and for all the ferocity of his stance, his voice was still benign. _(We cannot hold him for long.)_

 _(You won't need to, guardian.)_

The voice in Luke's head was as clear as though she were standing next to him, and he cried out with wordless emotion, craning his neck to look up.

Over the hills came a specter of yellow flame, dancing through the night on legs of lightning a hundred feet tall that flashed and crackled and left dazzling shadow-streaks across Luke's vision. Spitting flame and pouring shadow, the tiny storm descended upon the Heart Ring, and Asante rose up, howling, to meet it. They faced each other in the air, and through the haze and roil Luke saw a faint shape: a curving neck, a head turning, two discrete points of green light that found him and held him.

 _(Run,)_ said Eronil.

Luke ran.

His slippered feet thudded painfully on the stone as he and Zoë dashed toward the edge of the circle, where Plemmons and Zander joined them, and the four of them limped and staggered up the hillside, stumbling, shaking, weeping, brooms forgotten, made small and pathetic by the cataclysm of force exploding above them as the kitsunes battled. The very air around them seemed thicker, resisting their movement, pulsing with weird currents that made Luke's vision swim. He itched all over, and his limbs seemed to stretch and contort impossibly. The ground alternately sank beneath him like a pillow and tilted crazily. He no longer knew in which direction he stumbled, nor whether he was walking or crawling, nor how much time had passed. Time had ceased to exist.

 _(Luke.)_

Gibbering shadows swarmed around him. Sheets of flame erupted out of the sky, searing his skin.

 _(Luke, wake up.)_

He cried out, lost in a fever dream, reaching out blindly…and strong hands took hold of him, holding him steady.

 _(Luke.)_

He opened his eyes. He was in the Med Bay, and his shoulder was covered with a bandage.

Principal Zander smiled. "Welcome back."

Two days had passed.


	34. Chapter 34

On the morning of Sunday, May 11, Luke and Zoë left Cherrystone Medical Bay and they walked together to White Hall. It was a glorious morning, the campus swathed in a thousand pale shades of green as the grass grew in more fully and the leaves budded on every tree. The two of them, along with Doctor Plemmons and Principal Zander, had been quarantined in Cherrystone since the night of Asante's attack, to allow them to recover from the effects of their proximity to the battle. Classes had been canceled during those days. Zoë's hair had been badly burned in the fallout, and had been cropped quite close to her skull; she wore it boldly. Luke's shoulder and upper arm had been seared, but after days of rest and medical care he was almost fully recovered

Luke was glad, for the moment, to avoid his friends. He was shaken by how close Emerald Hill had come to destruction, and the quarantine gave him the opportunity to process his emotions in a quiet place, with people who understood. Zoë had been the last of them to come around, and the other three had sat around her hospital bed so that Luke could tell his story in full. Zander's burned cheek had been smeared with the same clear, sticky gel that covered Luke's arm, and he had propped his chin in his hand and listened very seriously.

"I probably ought to punish you," he had said at the end, "but that would be a pretty poor way to thank you! You're a very brave young man, Luke. We owe a lot to your quick thinking."

"Where is she now?" Zoë had asked.

"The First Wizard asked her to come to the Administration for questioning," Zander had said, and though Luke was initially nearly panicked to realize that she was gone, Zander assured them repeatedly that Asante, the Breaker, was badly wounded and gone, possibly even dead by then. In addition, officers from the National Security branch of the Administration had been posted at Emerald Hill for the rest of the school year.

Luke was not particularly reassured by this, but tried to emulate Zander's ease.

Finally, on Sunday, Doctor Close declared them free to go. Zander and Plemmons had been allowed to spend that night in their own quarters, but Luke and Zoë had been content to stay away from the dormitory for the moment, until after Zander had addressed the school. In the meantime, there was an important task to attend to.

Doctor Plemmons was halfway up the staircase at the back of White Hall when they arrived, and she waited to walk up with them.

"Are we going to Dragontooth Square?" Luke asked the professor.

"Oh yes," Plemmons said. "Greta and Harriet have the finest wand shop in the country.

"Oh yeah. I got mine from them back in August. How about you, Zoë?"

"Nah, too pricey for me. I went to O'Neill's on Quince Street."

"Well, of course your new wands will be paid for by the school." Plemmons opened the door to Cynthia Redding's office and held it for them to pass through.

Ms Redding hurried to greet them. "Miss Fratelli," she said, "Mister Baxter. Come in, come in. We're all so proud of you, I hope you know. What you did might be classified from the student body, but the staff knows, and you have our greatest respect. Really, really wonderful. Thank you for your service to the school."

She was walking as she talked, arms around the students' shoulders, escorting them across the room to the principal's office. Zander was there, looking through files in a large cabinet drawer with flicks of his fingers, but stopped when they entered and pushed the drawer closed. "Welcome, my friends. Ready to head to New York?"

Ms Redding offered to start the fire with her wand, but Zander waved her away good-naturedly, humming as he stoked the fire by hand. "I don't often have cause to do things the Muggle way," he said, "but I try to keep up on my training in that department, as well. A _ha!_ " he cried with delight as the kindling took flame, and stepped back, looking very pleased. "We'll just wait a moment for it to really get going."

"Sir?" said Zoë.

"Yes, my dear."

"Your wand—was it the wand you got before your freshman year?"

"As a matter of fact, it was. Sixteen inches, made of Osage Orange wood. A lifelong companion. I'm not sure how I'll feel, with a new one."

"And yours?" Zoë looked at Doctor Plemmons.

"Actually, my original wand was broken. Nasty duel in my early twenties."

Zander looked scandalized. "Meribell, I had no idea!"

The woman laughed merrily. "That was long ago, Principal."

"Did you win?" asked Luke.

"Technically I think it was a draw. She broke my wand, and then I broke her nose." Plemmons blushed, though it was less noticeable under her dark skin. "Our country's small magical population could never afford to segregate, but that doesn't mean everyone was always kind. My friends and I, on occasion, had to stand up for ourselves."

Zander's exaggerated astonishment softened, and Luke and Zoë's grins faded. Zander touched Plemmons's shoulder. She stuck out her chin, and there was a sparkle in her eye. "As I said, that was a long time ago. And though I can't say I was prepared to take on a kitsune, you plebian witches and wizards had best stay on my good side." She tweaked Luke's nose. "Let's go, shall we?"

The fire was burning brightly. With a bow, Zander held out the pot of Floo powder to Plemmons, and she took a small handful.

"Dragontooth Square," she said, and disappeared.

Luke went next, and this time managed not to stumble as he entered Dragontooth for the second time. It was as busy as ever, and warmer here than it had been in Wyoming, though overcast and blustery. Luke had been a little worried that his months at Emerald Hill would dull his wonder at the spectacular conglomeration of wizarding culture that was Dragontooth Square, and he was relieved to feel nearly as overwhelmed as he had upon his first arrival. The difference, he thought, was that at Emerald Hill, though he was often among crowds, the majority of that population was young. Here, as in Red River, he found himself in an established city of adults who barely saw him, so intent were they upon their own obscure business. A few people seemed to notice their Emerald Hill robes, but Luke felt nearly invisible…until Principal Zander emerged from the flames.

The Portal attendants were the first to greet him, and the crowd surged forward as though the principal's name were a magnet that drew them in. Zander beamed and hallooed and clapped shoulders and shook hands, and their progress toward the wand shop was very slow, but he never seemed to tire of the small talk, and his memory for names and faces appeared boundless. Luke watched him with amazement, content to be invisibly pulled along in his wake.

There were many questions about the incident at Emerald Hill, of course, but Zander evaded these with the deft skill of a politician, assuring everyone that First Wizard Perlmutter would be issuing a press release that weekend to explain everything. (Luke made a mental note to pick up a newspaper at the school store that week.)

They finally managed to shed their mass of followers at the door of the wand shop. "Hello, Principal," said one of the proprietors. "We've reserved the shop for your use this morning."

"We're so grateful, Harriet," said Zander. "Meribell, would you like to go first?"

With a gracious smile, Doctor Plemmons stepped forward. "Perhaps the third time will be the _charm_ , eh?" said Greta, and both of the twins giggled in appreciation of this _bon mot_. Luke found it interesting to watch them perform their strange magic; as she stared into Plemmons's eyes, Greta's skin even seemed to go slightly gray, heightening the effect of a statue.

That thought reminded Luke forcefully of the-one-who-reads.

"Right-o, here you go," said Greta, receiving from Harriet a purple box with a purple ribbon. "Twelve and three-quarter inches—a touch shorter than your last, Doctor, but made of olive wood. Very fine. Unicorn tail-hair in the core."

Plemmons smiled as she accepted the box. She opened it at once, admiring the wand and conjuring a burst of golden sparks before tucking it away into her sleeve.

"Zoë," said Zander, "go right ahead. Ladies first."

Harriet took Zoë's hand. Luke tried to be patient as the seconds ticked by. "Principal Zander," he said, quietly so as not to disturb Harriet.

"Yes, Luke?"

"When we get back to school, can I please go down to the Heart Ring? Just for a minute?"

"What for?"

"I wanted to say thank you to the spirits. For helping us. You know?"

Zander smiled at him (and Luke thought that Greta had also heard). "I think that's a fine idea. I'll take you down myself."

Finally Greta returned from flitting through the shelves, holding a golden box with a purple ribbon. Harriet presented it to Zoë. "Here we are. Ten and a half inches, very little flex. Ebony! Isn't it lovely?"

Zoë gave a sigh of great relief as she lifted her new wand. "What's it cored with?"

"Dragon heartstring. A suitable wand for a powerful sorceress, I should think." Harriet gave Zoë a wink.

"Now you, Luke," said Zander.

Luke found himself both excited and a little nervous as Greta took his hand in hers, as she had done many months ago. "Ah, yes, I remember you," she whispered, examining his hand for a moment before looking deep into his eyes. This time, knowing what was coming, he met her gaze calmly, wondering what she would see.

Harriet, her eyes closed, moved serenely through the shelves. Occasionally she would brush a finger over one of the boxes, but each time Greta would frown and shake her head. Finally Harriet disappeared, moving deeper into the shelves, and Luke heard a door open and close. After a moment she returned, and placed a box on the counter beside her sister; Greta rested one hand on it and smiled.

"Here we are!" she said, releasing Luke's hand. "Fourteen and a half inches. Rather longer than you've been used to, Mister Baxter, but you'll grow into it."

The box was a pale cream color with no bow at all, only a length of twine tied around it. Luke blew away a fine coating of dust on the lid as he pulled it toward him across the counter.

"Is that—?" muttered Zander.

"From the back room," said Harriet briskly. "Our apologies for the inferior packaging. I assure you, the wand itself is as good as new. Go ahead, young Luke, take a look. It's Padauk wood, from Africa. Gorgeous grain, don't you think? It should darken somewhat with use."

Luke opened the box with care, revealing a wand of beautiful reddish wood. He lifted it, and had a powerful sense of completion, as though part of him had been missing until this moment. He smiled, exhilarated. "It's great! What's in it?"

"A kitsune whisker."

Luke was surprised. He hadn't known that kitsune whisker was even an option for the core of a wand. "Thank you. It's perfect."

"All right, Principal, now for you," Harriet was saying. "So sorry for your loss."

"It could have been much worse," said Zander. "Time to meet a new friend."

After Harriet studied him for a long moment, Greta brought to the counter a gold-on-gold box. "An old wand," said Harriet. "This fellow has been in our shop for a long time, Principal. I'm glad to see it find its match at last. Thirteen inches even, amaranth, cored with a phoenix tail-feather. A good omen, we hope, for the future of Emerald Hill's phoenix."

Zander gave a little bow as he accepted the box, and studied his new wand with interest. The wood was almost as dark as that of Zoë's ebony wand, but with a purple tint, rather like the color of an eggplant. "Hello there," said Zander. "Lovely. Just lovely. Ladies, you have our thanks. Stellar work, as always."

Returning to the Portal was just as slow as getting to the wand shop had been, and Luke felt exhausted by the time he was finally able to toss some Floo powder into a fireplace and say, "Red River."

Set into the wall of a large courtyard in the southern quadrant of Red River were a number of public fireplaces, available for arrivals and departures. (Travel was possible _from_ Zander's office in the school, but not _to_ the office, a security measure that even the principal himself would not bypass.) Luke walked into Red River in perfect stride, his first graceful Floo arrival, and flexed his arm as he waited for the others, accustoming himself to the longer wand hidden in his sleeve. The four of them took a cab to the shuttle, where Zander chatted for a few minutes with the driver.

As the shuttle traveled toward Emerald Hill, Luke sat on his knees to look out the window and watched the ridges and valleys pass beneath them, everything tinted green with the arrival of spring (though, in the distance, Luke saw some higher peaks still white with snow). He felt a pang when he realized the school year was almost over. In only a few weeks, he and Jackson would return to Kentucky for the summer. Even more sobering was the realization that it had been nearly a year since his mother had died.

 _Today is Mother's Day_. He turned the thought over in his mind.

Though his life now was different in every way from his life a year ago, he knew now that the massive upheaval, the head-first dive into magic, the departure from everything he had known as normal, had actually been helpful to him in his grief. Every now and then something would strike his senses—the smell of her favorite flower (white lilacs, of which there were many in Emerald Hill in the spring), the sound of a woman's voice (there was one Advanced Chemistry professor whose voice startled him every time, so much like hers had been), the mementos from his Muggle life on the shelves beside his bed (the dinosaur figurines had been a gift from her, and he never forgot that the Stegosaurus had been her favorite)—and stop him short, catching against the rough edges in his heart, stealing away his breath for a moment. During those seconds she seemed very close, just around the next corner, just behind his shoulder. But most of the time she felt very far away. She was like a favorite story that he had read a hundred times, whose best passages he had memorized and liked to recite to himself every now and then.

 _Did you know, Mom?_ he wondered, not for the first time. _Did you know that your mom, my grandma_ … _did you know she was a witch? Did you know this was a possibility for me, to fly above the Rocky Mountains in a pegasus-drawn sleigh? Would you have sent in an application for me?_ Luke knew that Jackson's grandmother—who had been a roommate of his own grandmother, at Emerald Hill—was still alive, living somewhere in Europe. He hoped to meet her someday.

When they had landed on the concourse above Emerald Hill, Zander sent Doctor Plemmons and Zoë down to the campus. "Luke and I have one final item of business to attend to," he told them, and walked with Luke toward the other staircase.

Twice Luke had made that descent, once by foot and again by broom, both times at night and full of fear. How different, now, to saunter along the switchbacks with the principal on a beautiful spring day.

"Sir," said Luke as they walked, "how long have you known Doctor Yancey?"

"Oh, a long time. I started teaching at Emerald Hill when she was in her third year."

"And you knew, the whole time?"

"I knew even before that. I worked at the Administration before I taught here, and I was there to greet her when she first arrived. Before she even learned English." Zander scooped up a little stone from the side of the path and tossed it from hand to hand. "She was so small, but she seemed so old. Those eyes! Look right through you. I'm glad she got a handle on that."

Luke nodded. He was glad for that, too. "Do you trust her to keep us safe?"

Zander looked at him with a shrewd smile. "Do _you?_ "

"Yes, sir."

"Good. You should know that I trust her completely. Feel free to tell anyone who asks."

"I will. She's coming back today, right?"

"Yes. First Wizard Perlmutter should be coming down with her, too. We'll address the student body at dinner."

"Are you…gonna tell them?"

"We plan to, yes. Since Asante knows that she's here, I believe it's important for the students to know, too."

"You're gonna tell them about him, too?"

"Well, no." Zander chuckled. "The official line, Luke, is that a magically-charged storm started a wildfire that we could not control, and that Doctor Yancey, that Eronil was able to stop it. All of which is technically true, you'll note. And anyway, a bunch of the upperclassmen saw her—or saw something, at least, that they could not explain—putting out the fire. If we tried to hush it up, there would be a lot of suspicion, and that's not the sort of atmosphere I need at my school. Our strength, from here on out, will be in unity. I think the students will rally behind her. What do you think?"

"I think you're right, sir. Will she still teach?"

"She would like to, yes."

"Good. I hope the Sky Kitsunes have her again next year."

Zander laughed. "All things considered, Luke, I think that's one favor I can afford to grant you."

They arrived at the plateau containing the Heart Ring, and Zander gestured for Luke to go ahead. Luke hadn't even reached the center of the circle when the whispers erupted all around him, and the kitsune statue sat up, folding its long tails around its paws. _(Hello again, child.)_

"Hello." Luke smiled up at the statue. He could not see them moving, but he could sense the attention of the other spirits, and turned to wave at them, as well.

 _(You are unhurt?)_

"Yeah, I'm fine. I had to get a new wand, that's all. It has a core of kitsune whisker. See?" He took it out and held it up proudly. To his surprise, the statue leaned quite close, ears erect and nostrils flaring as it sniffed. Again he felt that tickle at the edge of his mind, like the beating of moth wings or the flutter of a candle flame.

 _(Indeed. Very fitting. A fine wand.)_

"And how about you? You're all okay?"

 _(We are well. The-one-who-breaks would have destroyed our stone housings, but this would only have freed our spirits, to which he could do no damage.)_

"Good. I was a little worried. I…I should have tried to come sooner. Sorry about that."

 _(Do not apologize, Lucas Alan Baxter.)_

"No, I mean it. You saved us. All of you. Asante would have killed us, but you stopped him until Doctor Yancey got here. And I just…I wanted to say thank you." Emotion filled Luke's throat and he swallowed hard, feeling only a little silly as he turned to the unicorn statue and bowed. "Thank you, unicorn," he said. And then, with another bow, "Thank you, sphinx." He thanked each of the statues in turn, and when he faced the kitsune once more, he left the center of the circle to move a little closer, halving the space between them and looking up into the shadowy eyes that watched him, blank stone that was somehow full of motion and expression.

"Thank you, the-one-who-reads," he said, and bowed.

 _(Ah, child,)_ the kitsune said, and Luke got the impression that it was smiling. _(We spirits did only our duty, as was assigned to us long ago. You, however, did much more than your duty. You left your place of safety and came to me through fire and fear. When the breaker came, you stood before him and spoke boldly. You are a remarkable young human. I am glad to know you, and proud to call you one of my own.)_

Luke looked down, embarrassed but very pleased.

He stood near the mouth of the path as Zander, too, addressed the spirits, far enough away that the principal's words were inaudible. After a minute or two, Zander came to him and they started back up the path.

"Did you show the kitsune your wand?" asked Zander.

"Yes, I did."

"And did he say anything?"

"Uh, he said it's…fitting."

"It certainly is. I thought he would tell you, but I guess that honor is mine. Luke, before allowing their spirits to be sealed into the statues, these six creatures each gave gifts of their bodies to the wizarding world. The unicorn gave his tail, the dragon her heart, the sphinx her claws, the phoenix his tail feathers, the gryphon her primaries…and the kitsune gave his whiskers. Eleven whiskers, to be precise. Eleven is an auspicious number for them."

"What?" Luke drew his wand from his sleeve and looked at it with new wonder. "This is one of _his_ whiskers?"

"It is. The ninth, I believe. I'm sure he's proud that it belongs to you."

They both looked back at the Heart Ring. Luke felt tears in his eyes, but somehow he was not ashamed for Zander to see. "Do you know his name? I mean, the name he gave himself?"

"Nope." Zander put a hand on Luke's shoulder. "But I wouldn't be surprised if he tells you someday."


	35. Chapter 35 (Interlude)

" _You're certain?"_

 _He has interesting eyes, light for his skin tone. Almost golden. The combination of that unsettling color and the intensity of his stare have intimidated many men and women throughout his career, but he has no power over me. He feels this, and it makes him uneasy—I can see/smell it, though he thinks he hides it carefully. "Yes," I tell him, for the seventh time this week._

 _He scowls, unconvinced. "He cut through our defenses like a knife through mozzarella. He lingered in the area for weeks, and you had no idea."_

" _Joel—" begins Gerald, but the First Wizard of the United States cuts him off with a peremptory jerk of one hand. He knows that Gerald has faith in me. He wants me to restore his own, yet again. I think of moonlight on water, wind on the prairie, snow on mountain peaks...and maintain my patience. Patience is something that no one could teach me. I had to teach myself. It did not come easily._

" _He altered his scent," I say, as I have said so many times this week. "It is difficult, but possible. Now that I have encountered him, he won't be able to hide from me again. You have my solemn assurance that I will not leave this place unprotected. Not even an order from my elder will draw me away."_

 _It was the ruling of the Administration that I should remain at Emerald Hill. And so I shall. It feels a little like imprisonment, but it is an honorable imprisonment and I accept it._

" _She won the fight," says Gerald._

 _Joel turns to the fireplace and broods over the flames. "She was wounded."_

 _At that my pride is piqued. Asante's teeth caught me just where my left foreleg joins my body; there are a few punctures and some bruising, rather dramatic against the pale skin of my human shoulder, but the muscle is not torn and my witch's robes hide the wound completely. It will not even scar. "A minor bite, and healing well. He shed far more blood than I."_

" _Healing?" He looks at me again with those interesting eyes. "It's not like Lunsford, then?"_

 _Silly of me to hope I could escape this conversation—our first private meeting, free of committees and consultants and press correspondents—without hearing that name. "No."_

" _You have no further insight into that matter?"_

 _"No, sir."_

 _"If you did, you would tell me?"_

 _My temper flares. Joel is a decent man and good at his job, and rarely do I see such abrasiveness and suspicion from him—especially not directed toward me. He is tired after the press conferences and the frightened parents that have been the natural fallout of what he will only refer to as 'the incident.' He and Gerald have been working night and day to reassure the magical community of this country that their children are not in danger. Thankfully, only a very few students have any idea of what really happened. Even better, only two were there to witness it. Luke surfaces in my mind, his dark eyes following me. I have not yet spoken with him about that night. Perhaps I_ …

 _No. I push away both Luke's face and an unpleasant emotion and draw myself up to my full human height. I am still dwarfed by Joel's bulk, but for a moment the shadows in Gerald's office deepen and stir. Admittedly, I myself am not above the occasional show of intimidation._

" _Has your trust in me diminished, First Wizard?" I ask._

 _Fear, anger, frustration, resignation—a complex tapestry of colors and scents and sounds chase one another rapidly across him, followed by acquiescence, and respect tinged with ripples of reluctance. Joel was never a foolish man. He has never seen me in the fullness of my power, but neither is he duped by my human cloak. He has dealt with kitsunes._

 _"Of course not," he says gruffly. He does not apologize, but I neither expected nor require it. He turns to Gerald. "You still mean to go forward with your_ … _demonstration?"_

 _"That's up to Alice."_

 _Their eyes meet, and for a moment there is a not-unfriendly trial of wills. Joel feels some resentment of Gerald's deference toward me: a touch of xenophobia that not even these years of tentative cooperation between our species has been able to shake out of him. Gerald, in return, has been offended on my behalf by the questioning that the Administration has put me through this week. It doesn't matter. I wait for them to finish their unspoken conversation, watching it in the kaleidoscope of their colors/scents._

 _Finally Joel grunts. "Let's get on with it, then."_

 _All eyes are on us as we descend the staircase—Joel first, head up, imperious; Gerald behind him, beaming his genial smile at that ocean of serious faces; and me. Zoë and Luke have been sworn (yet again, in Luke's case) to secrecy, as well as Meribell (somewhat to her offense, but it was necessary), but a whisper of something strange has passed through the student body nonetheless, doubtless from the upperclassmen (and, yes, probably the professors as well) who were recruited to battle the fire and were high enough on their brooms to see something beyond the southern rim of the campus. Something like an electrical storm, perhaps, or a volcano caught in a hurricane._

 _The color/scent of a large group is a fascinating study in tone and texture. Though they are largely silent, the babble of their emotions is deafening in its strength: confusion (a rattling hiss like the static of a dead radio station), suspicion (a dark bubbling mutter), anticipation (a bright staccato wooden ticking), excitement (a breathless, rushing wind). Excitement? That makes me smile (if only in my mind). Only children could feel such a pure emotion at a time like this._

 _We cross the arched iron walkway to the faculty balcony, where there is no excitement among the adult colors/scents. I can recognize my few allies at a distance—Meribell, Andrew, Michelle, several others—by the compassion that warms the group's colors with pockets of coral. And that patch of acrid yellow_ …

 _I do not listen as Joel addresses the student and faculty bodies. That unpleasant emotion is creeping over me again, one that was introduced to me with sudden force many years ago. It took me some time, during those interim years, to puzzle out the difference between guilt and shame, two emotions that Ikitsun rarely experience (and would never bother to analyze anyway). After long thought, and a few careful questions put to Gerald, I came to the conclusion that guilt is the result of an action. In my long life, I have done many things that merit guilt (and I hope I may be excused if I feel it only retroactively). Shame, however, is a much darker thing, the result not of something one has done, but rather of something one_ _is_ _._

 _I feel guilty when I think of Luke, his intuitive warning, how he pleaded for me to stay. I feel guilty knowing what he did, how he spoke to my brother and asked his name (and I cannot fathom what possessed him to do such a foolish thing), guilty knowing that Luke has been marked. And I feel it again—an old, familiar, inescapable guilt—when I see the fear that blankets Heath Lunsford this evening. He knows what is coming. Gerald warned him, of course. To surprise him with this would have been cruel._

 _In my long life, I have felt shame only once._

 _Joel and Gerald turn to me now, and I know that I have been called forward. I don't know how much they have said, but it doesn't matter. There is nothing for me to add. I have only one role in today's performance._

 _I stand at the rail and look at them all, faces upon faces upon faces, open, expectant, empty vessels waiting to be filled, and I feel myself affected by them. They are so young, and their innocence is so fragile. I reach out my arms toward them, something I never intended to do, and I hear myself speaking, though I had not planned to say a thing: "If you will have me, I will guard you with my life."_

 _Poetic, but silly. I should not have spoken. Too late now. Time to rock some worlds, as they say._

 _(Sorry about this, Heath.)_

 _Dropping my human guise feels like shedding a stiff coat that is a size or two too small. Fur blooms from my skin and I stretch luxuriously, in the three dimensions the humans can see and several they cannot. Dimly I hear the ruckus of their reaction, but I hardly notice. It is glorious, this feeling, this freedom: I am drunk on it. I am myself, I am ablaze, and the wings of my shadow course throughout the hall on a heated wind. I rise, dripping light, licks of flame that touch every upturned face, reflect in every bulging eye. To reveal myself like this feels deliciously forbidden. I can feel shame creeping toward me, whispering threats, but I will not be bullied, I will_ _not_ _be ashamed, I am me, I am the-one-who-has-fallen, I am the fire-hound, the shadow-cat, the stone-with-sharp-teeth. I am Ikitsun. I look heavenward and open my throat._

 _There are a few in the hall who have seen an Ikitsun in the fullness of its power, but not one of them has ever heard an Ikitsun sing. Fleetingly I wish I could hear it as they do. To me it is merely my voice, and though I know that it is beautiful, I do not feel the colors that I sense from the humans. Their panic is gone, they are struck dumb with wonder, there are tears on countless faces. Their awe rings out with sudden unexpected force, a thousand thousand golden bells that resonate in perfect harmony with my song, and this is something new, this is a beauty I did not know could exist, and I hope they can feel it, I hope that on some level they can perceive the joy and assurance that blossoms from me because now I know that all will be well, that they will let me stay._

 _I walk among them, continuing to hum in tune with their reverence, letting them see me, meeting their eyes. A few bolder students reach out to me and I let their fingers slip through my fur, I tickle their arms with my long tails. And then Zoë is before me, weeping, and she kneels, and puts her arms around my neck, and I welcome her into the glow of my flame, I allow myself to be embraced. "You saved us," she says, and I could not have planned it better, because news of that grateful statement flies through the hall almost as quickly as my shadow. There is no fear among the student body. They will let me stay._

 _And there is Luke. Jackson stares, his mouth hanging open, his mind a single exclamation point of amazement and delight, but Luke is wearing a very different expression. He smiles quietly. The golden light of awe that fills the hall is somewhat diffused around him, tempered with a very adult sort of satisfaction. I do not single him out, merely letting my gaze pass over him. I don't want to let the others know that he had anything to do with this, for in truth I can hardly admit it even to myself. I am not yet ready to face my guilt, to accept the fact that, had it not been for a suicidally brave child, I would have returned to find Emerald Hill a massive graveyard filled with the charred bones of those I swore to protect. I do not know what force led him to me, but I bless it, for tonight this hall is full of vibrant life that my brother would have stamped out like so many sparks._

 _Yes, Luke is marked, but I will not tell him so. For all his maturity of thought he is still a child, and he has already suffered enough at the hands of the breaker. I will watch over you, little brother. Do not fear the shadows._

 _At last, my tour of the hall complete, I return to the professors' loft. They draw back before me, and it is both amusing and a little sad that the adults cannot feel the pure awe that radiates from the children, that theirs is tinted with anxiety, their minds racing with the implications and consequences of this reveal. They are unable to live in this beautiful moment. It doesn't matter. It was the children I wanted to convince, and all it took was a song._

 _Joel nods to me, a gesture of complicity and acceptance. Everyone sees it. The First Wizard knew all along, they think, and later, when the blunt force of their wonder has mellowed, they will be reassured, remembering._

 _Gerald shows no such reticence. As I approached Emerald Hill on that terrible night, flying on the wings of the night given me by my clan, I heard his desperate plea; later, when Asante had departed and I found him and the others huddled together in hallucinatory terror on the hillside, he was not lucid enough even to recognize me and yet was whispering "thank you, thank you, thank you." Since our reconciliation, his trust in me has never wavered. He does not touch me—he has never dared, not so much as a handshake, and I am grateful for it—but in front of his colleagues, the entire student body, and the First Wizard of the United States, Gerald Zander kneels and bows his head, and the depth of his gratitude, unclouded by any selfishness, is enough to move even me._


	36. Chapter 36

His feet sounded very loud as he crossed the tiles to take his place, sneakers squeaking slightly with every step. _Dink-squink_ , _dink-squink_. Dread weighed him down. She, on the other hand, seemed to glide. He didn't hear her at all; for all he knew, she hadn't moved from her seat. But when he turned she was there, of course. Motionless. Staring. Wand dangling from long fingers.

Luke drew a long breath, blowing it out slowly through pursed lips, drawing his wand with the languid motion of a swimmer, or a sleepwalker. He had practiced with the new wand as best he could, though of course there had been no more practice duels; at least, not with her. Jackson had helped him to prepare, under Lunsford's watchful eye. For Luke, the hardest part of the aftermath of Asante's visit was being forbidden to tell Jackson and Andromeda the truth. They suspected something, of course, knowing that normal fire could not destroy a wand, but when Jackson's good-natured questioning had begun to upset Luke, Lunsford had stepped in and put an end to it. For a day or two the friendship between the boys had been somewhat strained, but then, while practicing, Luke had deflected Jackson's Disarming hex with one of his own and Jackson had been so impressed that he could no longer be annoyed.

Luke had been impressed with himself. He felt more in tune with this wand, and with pride he attributed this to the kitsune whisker within it. Remembering how the-one-who-reads had rallied the spirits of the Heart Ring to hold back Asante's wrath, Luke imagined that he wielded that same power at the end of his arm. It made him feel quicker and more confident…or, it had, until he faced Dancella Rondell on the third aboveground floor of the Bastion on the day of their final exam.

The large room was absolutely silent. Luke kept his eyes on Dancella, but he could feel the intensity of the stares of the rest of the class, and of Abernathy. This was the matchup they had all been waiting for.

"Begin," said Abernathy, his voice cutting sharply through the expectant hush.

Luke did not move. He had spent a long time nervously contemplating how to handle this duel, but now that it came down to it, he felt paralyzed. Dancella's pale eyes drilled into him. Luke had never met anyone so full of anger, so unreasonably bitter; in particular, her reaction of disgust to Lunsford's touch troubled him. But suddenly, when he was supposed to be concentrating on defeating an opponent, it was Lunsford's voice that came to his mind, along with the memory of crunchy snow beneath his boots and hot chocolate beneath his chin. _There are a lot of unknowns to take into account before we can make judgments_.

Luke smiled. He didn't mean to, but there it was. Dancella's brows twitched with instant suspicion, but for once he didn't feel intimidated. He smiled, and gave her a little nod, and moved one foot back, relaxing into a dueling stance.

After a few seconds of hesitation, Dancella also took up the proper stance, for the first time accepting the formality of the duel instead of mocking him with flippancy. Luke breathed, counting heartbeats. _One_ … _two_ … _three_ … _four_ …

She moved first, with a Disarming hex. If he had dodged, he would have been too slow, but Luke did not move toward the barrier that he could have used for cover. He dove forward, low, landing on one shoulder and hurling a " _Expelliarmus_ " of his own at Dancella just before he rolled, a clumsy half-tumble that halved the distance between them. Dancella evaded and sent a " _Locomotor wibbly!_ " his way, but again he rolled, moving beneath the trajectory of her hex. It singed the floor where he had been a second before.

As he had expected, she stood her ground. Anyone else would have backed away; close quarters made dueling much more difficult, impeding the proper wand movements, and besides, it was a natural reaction to move away from an attacker. Natural, perhaps, to anyone but Dancella. Never once in practice had she made use of the wooden barrier, and today was no exception.

" _Reducto!_ " he cried, and she spun away from the barrier, realizing too late that he had not aimed at the barrier: he had aimed at the floor at her feet, and the ceramic tile there splintered with a _poof_ of dust and shards. Dancella lost her balance and fell backward, and Luke used those precious seconds to scramble forward, standing over her with a grin. He felt no malice, only the thrill of unexpected success.

Dancella stared up at him in surprise for about a second, and then: " _Expelliarmus!_ " she shouted with a snap of her wand, and Luke fell as though punched hard in the chest. His wand left his hand and Dancella caught it, regaining her feet to stand triumphant.

"Rondell takes the round," said Abernathy blandly. "Excellent form, girl. Points added for exploiting your opponent's hesitation. _A_."

The class applauded. They had expected no less.

"As for you, Baxter," went on the professor. Luke looked at him with a wide smile. Abernathy seemed taken aback for a moment and then said, "Surprising tactics. Well done finding your opponent's weakness. _A_."

There was further applause, and Luke gave a little bow, feeling both silly and exceptionally lighthearted. He turned to Dancella and saw her holding out his wand. "Thanks," he said, accepting it. She did not reply, but he had not expected her to.

"That was _amazing_ ," said Andromeda with feeling, some time later as they exited the building into the warm spring sunshine. "Hitting the floor! No one else thought of that. That wand really suits you."

"You did great, too," he said, and it was true—Andromeda had won her round against Wynne Ackerman and earned a _B_ (points had been deducted for her refusal to Disarm Wynne after he had been incapacitated by her Jelly-Legs hex).

Andromeda inclined her head in gracious acknowledgment of the compliment. "Well, we're done. You've made it through one whole year of wizard schooling, Luke. How does it feel?"

She held an imaginary microphone in front of him as they walked and Luke grinned. "I dunno," he said. "It's been…a pretty great year. I'm kinda sad to be leaving."

"You're not going right away, are you? Aren't you staying for graduation?"

"Well, yeah." The seniors' graduation ceremony would be held on June 14, a full nine days away; no students other than the graduates themselves were required to attend, and normally few did (besides those with older siblings graduating), but since the announcement had been made that Doctor Yancey would be delivering the commencement address, it seemed that almost everyone planned to stay the extra time. Lunsford had confided to Luke and Jackson that this was quite a hassle for the House-Elves, but since these were special circumstances, Zander had agreed to pay double-overtime to those willing to work the extra days.

They wandered into the Joining Glade and sat in the shadow of a spread-winged gryphon. "Have you talked to her yet?" Andromeda asked.

"No." Though she had been visible about campus, Doctor Yancey had not returned to her classroom since the incident in May. Luke had been a little disappointed that she hadn't been there at least for the final exam, to see his perfect transfiguration of a sneaker into a stone. Every time he saw her, she was surrounded by students and professors clamoring for her attention, and he had given up on being able to speak with her before heading back to Kentucky. "That's okay, though. She's got a lot to do. And I'm pretty sure Sky Kitsunes will be in her Transfig class next year, too."

He gave Andromeda a knowing smile, and she laughed. "Such intrigues, Mister Baxter! I'd better stick with you next year if I want to know all the secrets on campus."

"Andi, baby, I'm hurt," said a new voice. "I thought I was your number-one source."

Andromeda plucked a half-rotted cherry that had fallen from a nearby tree and lobbed it at Merwin Hyatt, who had sauntered over while they were talking. "You're my number-one source for blustering bullshit, Merwin."

Luke looked at her with an open-mouthed gape; Andromeda's cheeks pinked but her smirk was proud. Meanwhile Merwin was crowing with laughter, and flopped onto the grass to put an arm around her shoulders. "Andi! I didn't think you had it in you! You're my kind of gal."

"Hands off, Hyatt, or I'll take them off for you!" This shout, from halfway across the Joining Glade, was from Jackson, whose robes hung open lackadaisically. He broke into a sprint and Merwin scooched away from Andromeda just in time to meet Jackson's headlong charge. The two scuffled in the grass until Jackson banged an elbow on one of the gryphon's bronze paws and they called a truce while he recovered.

"How'd it go?" Jackson asked Luke, rubbing his elbow briskly. There was grass in his hair, and a cherry had stained one shoulder of his robes. "You didn't hurt her, did you?"

"Who, Dancy? Jack, I don't think I could hurt her if I tried."

"Well, what did you do?"

"Knocked her down by blowing up part of the floor, but she Disarmed me and won."

"Are you talking about Dancella Rondell?" Merwin adjusted his glasses, which had been knocked askew in the wrestling match. "You pal around with her?"

"I don't," said Luke. "She doesn't like me. Jack does, though."

"Seriously? Man, that girl is a closed book. Kinda scary, too."

"Aw, that's not very nice," said Jackson. "She's just…different, that's all. I like her. And I'll pound you if you say anything mean about her."

Merwin straightened his robes primly. "Jackson, my good man, I would be thrilled to teach you a lesson at your earliest possible conven _oof!_ "

Jackson had tackled Merwin again, and Andromeda and Luke leaned back, enjoying the sunshine and the free entertainment.

* * *

 _Click, click, click_. The clasps on Luke's suitcases—he had had to purchase a third, larger case to hold his Emerald Hill robes and other things acquired over the course of the year—snapped home. He was all packed. The little cubbies and drawers looked forlorn, emptied of his things. _I'll be back_ , he promised the bed and the shelves and the window.

It was June 14, graduation day. The ceremony was scheduled for mid-afternoon, and that evening the student body would be departing; only the seniors were allowed to stay the extra night (this annual event was nicknamed Flash Night and was notorious for its wild parties, which the staff generally overlooked unless things got violent). The parents of the graduating seniors, and a fair proportion of the student body, were already at the Quidditch stadium, having gone straight there after lunch in order to get the best possible seats. They were all hoping that Doctor Yancey would show her true kitsune form again, though Luke seriously doubted she would, despite the clamor from parents for another demonstration.

He wandered into the hall. There was still almost an hour remaining before he was supposed to meet Jackson and the Day quintuplets outside the stadium. On an impulse, instead of going down the stairs to the Den, he went up. He passed the floor belonging to the second-year freshmen, and the third-year sophomores, and reached the topmost floor, with the names of the fourth-year Sky Kitsune boys. The staircase stopped here, but against one wall there was a ladder leading to a trapdoor that gave the students access to the dormitory's flat roof. Luke had only been up there once before; it was considered the domain of the juniors and seniors, and underclassmen were discouraged from going up, but he figured there probably wouldn't be anyone to stop him today.

The trapdoor was unlocked, and he opened it and climbed out into the cool, overcast day. The roof was a large open space, broken only by the extrusions of the chimneys at regular intervals, walled with a parapet that was as high as Luke's chest with regularly-spaced holes at the bottom to allow water to drain. (During the winter months, the upperclassmen were reported to build spectacular snow sculptures and forts on the roofs, and Luke looked forward to being able to participate one day.) He looked around aimlessly, and wandered toward the front edge of the roof, where he rested his arms on the stone parapet and looked down at the courtyard.

"Hello, Luke."

He jumped, startled; he had just seen the entire roof and it had been empty. But when he recognized the voice, he smiled. "Hi, Doctor Yancey."

She was standing a short distance away, wearing another tweed skirt suit like the one he remembered seeing her in on the day they had met. "I was hoping to catch you before you left."

"It's okay. I guess you've been pretty busy."

"I have, yes, but that's no excuse. You deserve better from me, and I'm sorry."

He shrugged, feeling a little awkward. "I, uh, forgive you."

"Thank you." She approached and stood beside him, and together they looked out at the other dormitories and the mountainside above, which was still black and scorched.

"Is there any news about the phoenix?" Luke asked.

"Nothing yet. Hopefully by this time next year the sphinxes will have given us the go-ahead."

"I hope so. Hey, I wanted to ask you—the-one-who-reads said that your only chance of getting to us in time was if your clan could help you out. Is that what happened?"

"It is. I was still with them when I heard the call. Our business was almost concluded, but it would have taken me several days to return here on my own. In a time of emergency, a clan can summon its collective strength for something important—calling a storm, defeating an enemy, sending a traveler. Thankfully, they accepted my plea without questioning."

"I'm glad it worked."

"So am I. More than you know."

"Is...um, is your brother…dead?"

She looked at him with kindness. "I don't know. It's certainly possible, but I don't know. Luke, may I see your wand?"

"Oh. Sure." Without his robes, Luke was without a good way to carry his wand, and so he had wedged it beneath his belt on his right side. He gently pulled it loose and handed it to Yancey, who took it with reverence.

"I can feel him here. It does me good to know that he will be with you from now on."

"Zander said this is the ninth. Do you know any of the people who have the other eight?"

"Ronald Flax, Trudy Underwood, Ophelia Paulson, Charles O'Malley, Sasha Bronson, Peter Klages, Molly Trask," Yancey rattled off, and smiled at his surprise. "I know their names, though I've only met Mister Klages and Ms Trask. That's seven. The eighth…was given in August of 1939."

A slow grin spread over Luke's face. "Yours?"

"Mine." She drew it, a long wand of pale wood, and held it beside the other. They were different in shape and grain, but all the same Luke thought there was something similar about them, much like the similarity he had seen between Yancey and the photo of the kitsune Singüe. "I was so hoping the ninth would be given during my time here. And I can think of no one more worthy to receive it than you." She returned his wand, but when he took it, she put her hand over his, holding the wand between them like a sacred object. "Luke," she said, and when he looked up, her eyes were green, the green he remembered from the yearbook photographs. Shadows played through that color like the movement of leaves. "I will not let you down again."

Luke smiled. "I know."

She laughed then, and he watched the more human color flood back into her eyes. "I must admit, _aumenar_ , I am glad to know you."

"Ow-men…what does that mean?"

Yancey ruffled his hair affectionately. "It means _little brother_."

They walked together toward the stadium in friendly silence. The campus was almost deserted by now, but as they passed White Hall a voice called out to them, and Luke waved as Zoë came dashing over with two adults in tow. "Luke, these are my parents. Mom, Dad, this is Luke."

"Oh! Hi," said Luke, shaking their hands. Mister Fratelli was tall with close-cropped black curls, much like his daughter, and his wife was a delicate-looking blonde. Luke was surprised that Mister Fratelli, who was a Muggle, had been allowed on campus, but he supposed that Zander had allowed it as a special return for her courage in the Heart Ring.

"We were fortunate enough to meet Doctor Yancey this morning," said Zoë's mother, "but I'm so glad to meet you as well, Luke. Zoë speaks of you as a hero."

Zoë cleared her throat pointedly, and Luke grinned. "I sure wouldn't have made it far without her."

"Please excuse me," said Doctor Yancey, "but I have to make some final preparations. Zoë, Luke…have a good summer."

She headed for the stairs that would take her down to the field-level entrance, and Luke joined the Fratellis in making for the stands. They met the Day children, along with Jackson and Doctor Lunsford, and together found a place to sit, high in the stands on the south side.

At three-o'clock the band struck up _Pomp and Circumstance_ , and the graduates filed out of the western field-level entrance to take their seats in the rows of chairs that had been set up on the grass, looking east toward a low platform that had been erected with a podium bearing the Emerald Hill crest. In chairs on the stage were several adults. The seniors looked grand in their formal graduation robes and mortarboards with long green tassels; each wore a sash reflecting his style and herald.

When they were seated and quiet, Reverend Mickelberg took the stage to deliver the invocation, followed by Principal Zander, who welcomed the crowd, told a few funny anecdotes, and introduced the class's valedictorian—none other than Mandy Kines, who had served as president of the Kitsune dormitory. Mandy spoke of her pride in her class, almost all of whom, when called to action by the staff, had bravely taken to the air to fight the fire.

Then there was the special musical performance, a duet between a sixth-year soprano and Doctor Hurle, a Botany professor, on the cello. When the music had ended and the applause had waned, the crowd stirred, collectively sitting up straighter on their benches, as First Wizard Joel Perlmutter crossed the stage to stand behind the podium.

"Students, faculty, parents," he said, his amplified voice booming throughout the stadium. "You are all, by now, familiar with our commencement speaker. We, your government, ask your forgiveness for the deception you may feel. We felt it was necessary to conceal the identity of this, our ally…not only for your protection, but for hers as well. You see, we feared your reaction. It is so easy to fall victim to fear of the Other. We so easily become entrenched in the mentality of _us_ versus _them_ —the known against the unknown, the comfortable against the different. It is this fear, this flawed mentality, that has been the root cause of every war in the history of our species. And while your government has worked for many years to establish a relationship with people beyond our species—yes, I say people, for I have known kitsunes with more humanity than some men, one of whom is here with us today—we feared that you would not understand, that you could not accept one who is so very Other, so beyond what you have known, so outside the realm of your comfort.

"We were wrong.

"In my long career I have never been so proud of my magical countrymen as on the day it was revealed that there is a kitsune among you. You responded not with fear, or hatred, or horror. You responded with graciousness and warmth. All of my struggles to establish and maintain this connection between our species have perhaps accomplished less than you managed to do in the space of a few minutes. Your acceptance will go down in the history of our country as one of our finest moments. You have my gratitude.

"It is my distinct pleasure and honor to introduce your commencement speaker: your teacher, your ally, your friend, Doctor Alice Yancey."

The applause was thunderous. Luke wondered if they would be able to hear it in Red River. Yancey's heeled shoes tapped across the stage and she smiled down at the graduates, eventually holding up a hand to gently quiet the noise.

"Hello," she said, and the crowd erupted into cheers again. She laughed, waving both arms until the stadium had quieted. "Thank you, First Wizard, for your kind words.

"It is so true that our natural reaction is to fear the Other. This is just as true for my people as it is for yours. For many hundreds of years we have shared a planet and yet done our best to avoid one another…because we are different. We are so very different, and I had no idea of the true size of the gulf between us until I came to live among you. I found your actions unpredictable, your motivations nearly incomprehensible. I was easily frustrated at first. Your languages were strange, your habits were strange, your clothing was strange. It has been my life's work to learn your ways, to immerse myself in the Other, to place myself at your mercy. It has been difficult and, at times, painful work. And whether or not it would ever mean anything all came down to you.

"I was sent to Emerald Hill to protect you, to guard against tragedy and catastrophe. And for some years I have felt very alone, carrying this burden. For all that I have learned and all the progress that has been made toward a true understanding between us…still I felt myself superior to you, to this Other in which I have been living. I selfishly clutched this burden, pitying myself for having no one with whom it could be shared. I tell you this only so that I can agree with the First Wizard in saying that I was so wrong. I am not alone. All this time, I have been surrounded not only by allies, but by equals. I think that I truly believe this for the first time. And I'm not only talking about the adults, though they certainly did act bravely when the school was in danger. I no longer consider myself superior to anyone here, not even the youngest freshman. Your country has walked a long road toward equality, and it is a lesson that you now have imparted to me. I am a better person because of it. I think we all are better people because of the night of the fire. We have discovered that our greatest strength is in cooperation.

"Graduates, we send you out now into the world. There is so much strangeness out there, so much Other. You will encounter people with different appearances, different beliefs, different abilities. But if I have learned one thing during my time among you, it is this: our lives are made rich by these differences. You must embrace not only your own uniqueness, but the uniqueness of each person you encounter. And when you meet with people and experiences that are new and strange and shocking, recall your own courage on the day you met a kitsune. You have the power to erase borders, to stamp out hatred, to be a light for all the world to see, and it has nothing to do with your magic; rather, it has everything to do with your humanity. I am proud to stand before you wearing this human skin, because you have shown me the nobility of being a human. Because of you, my life's work can continue, and this new phase of openness and acceptance between our peoples will make richer the lives of both humans and kitsunes.

"Graduates, I salute you. Principal Zander, First Wizard Perlmutter, I present to you the Emerald Hill Class of 1975."

If the initial applause had been thunder, this new applause was an earthquake. Everyone was on their feet, the younger students even standing on the bleachers. Luke certainly was, sandwiched between Zoë and Jackson, but amidst the tumult he leaned back slightly to look around Jackson. Doctor Lunsford was also standing and also clapping, but he wore a complicated expression, the pieces of which Luke could not identify.

 _It's okay_ , he thought, and clapped even harder. _It's all gonna be okay_.

The graduates crossed the platform one by one to shake the hands of Yancey, Zander, and Perlmutter and receive their diplomas. The band played a recessional and they departed, and the crowd began to make its slow way out of the stadium.

"So you guys are still coming over this summer, right?" asked Aristaeus Day, pushing through his siblings to address Luke and Jackson.

"Yeah!" cried Jackson. "I'm sure we can."

"When, though?" asked Theia. "Like in July, halfway through? Ooh, maybe in August and we can all travel back to school together!"

"Give us your address, Jack," said Andromeda, "and we'll write to each other and work it out."

"Here you go," said Lunsford, producing a little notebook and a pen from the pocket of his blazer. He scribbled the address and handed it to Andromeda.

Luke shouldered his way closer as they descended the steps toward the exit. "Do you live here?" he asked Lunsford. "I mean, when school's out?"

"Nope," said Lunsford with a smile. "I have a house in Colorado. Maybe you and Jack can come visit me sometime, too."

"That'd be great!"

"Good. I'd like that. Have a good trip home, boys. See you soon."

Lunsford headed toward White Hall, and Jackson gave Luke a mighty shove. "Come on," he said, "I'll race you to the dorms!"

It was a close thing, but Jackson won.

* * *

 _Dear Mark:_

 _Sorry I haven't written in a while. Again. The school year is over and Jack and I are back in Kentucky for the summer. Maybe you and Kelly can come see us sometime?_

 _School was really great. I think next year I'm going to take band class. What instrument should I play?_

 _I miss you. But I have lots of friends and I'm happy. So don't worry about me._

 _Luke_

* * *

\- The End -


End file.
